solafiamma (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
solafiamma) wrote2004-04-08 04:35 pm
solafiamma) wrote2004-04-08 04:35 pm
Entry tags:
Fiction: Best Laid Plans
My appallingly late entry for the Small Change challenge can be found on my brand spanking new, ugly as fuck website:
[Edited to remove link to defunct website - link to story is below]l
It's TrickC, long-ish, and probably closer to P-13 than anything else, although I'm a terrible judge of such things. If you encounter any glitches on the website, please let me know and I will rip the rest of my hair out.
If you prefer to read it on lj, please step inside:
Written for the Small Change challenge (although it's so late you'd think I'd be embarrassed to admit it). Thanks to Budge once again for the beta. Feedback? Why, yes, please. Just leave comment below or email me at sola_fiamma@yahoo.ca.
Disclaimer: It's fiction, folks.
Best Laid Plans
by Sola Fiamma
Drive all night, take some speed
Wait for the sun to shine down on me.
When JC opens his eyes the room is dark and unfamiliar, his head is thick with sleep and the residue of last night's partying, and there's a decidedly unpleasant smell in the air. It takes him almost ten minutes to wake up enough to remember that the room is unfamiliar because he's in a hotel and to realize that the horrible smell is coming from him, an almost palpable reek of sour sweat, cigarette smoke and stale sex.
It takes him another ten minutes of blinking, stretching and trying not to breathe through his nose to remember he doesn't have any pants.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
"Speak to me, baby."
"Um, Chris?"
"JC? Hey, dude. Just, uh, hang on a sec." Chris sounds distracted and JC worries that he's woken him up which wouldn't be good because even though Chris tends to need very little sleep and wakes up on a whisper, he also tends be cranky if he's woken up before he's ready. "Hah! Okay, yeah, sorry about that."
"No, it's fine. Are you still in L.A.?"
"Uh huh."
"And are you, like, busy? I didn't wake you up, did I?"
"No, man. It's cool. Just whipping Justin's ass at Halo. Again. What's up?"
It seems awfully early for Justin to be up, but maybe they haven't been to bed yet. Which also wouldn't be good, because if Chris is drunk, he's not going to be able to drive, but then again, he can always take a cab, so.
"I was hoping. Well. Could you maybe-. Do you think you could do me a favour? Like, I really need you to do me a favour, Chris. Really."
"What do you need, C?" Chris' voice is suddenly serious.
"Could you maybe go to my place and pick up a pair of pants for me? And bring them here? Please?" He says it quickly, matter-of-factly, like he's asking Chris to pass him the salt or read him the horoscope section of the newspaper. If he doesn't make a big deal out of this, maybe Chris won't notice the request is a bit weird. Except, of course, it's Chris.
"Where are you, dude?"
"Um." JC gropes for the bedside lamp and flicks it on, scanning the room for some sort of clue. "Uh, the Beverly Hilton? Just hang on." There's a card on the bedside table, one of those laminated menus you hang on the door if you want to pre-order breakfast. He studies it for a minute, appalled as usual at how much it costs just to get lukewarm eggs and soggy toast delivered to your room
"C?"
"No, sorry. It's the Four Seasons. In, uh," he consults the card again. "In Beverly Hills, I guess. Can you bring them, though? My pants?"
"You're at the Four Seasons with no pants?" There's some muttering in the background, but JC can only make out occasional words, like "hotel", "no fucking pants" and "crazy goddamned bastard". Then Chris is back saying, "Justin would like to know, and yeah, I'm curious too, just what the hell are you doing at the Four Fucking Seasons without your clothes?"
JC sighs. He should have known there was no way this wasn't going to be humiliating.
"Look, can't I just tell you when you get here?"
"Well, no. No, you absolutely can't, Chasez. Because when I get there, you'll have your pants, won't you, and then you're not going to have any reason to tell me. So. Go, dude. Why are you prancing around naked in the heart of Beverly Hills?"
"Fuck. You're so annoying. You're a total asshole. And so's Justin. I hate you both. Look. I had my pants when I got here. It's not like I forgot to put them on or anything. They just kind of aren't here any more. And I am. And I need them, Chris, so come on, will you please stop fooling around and just get me some pants already?"
"Isn't this why you have a personal assistant?"
"I'm not calling him! God, Chris, do you want me to just die of embarrassment? I was kind of hoping to get out of this situation with a little bit of dignity. Which is why I called you. Which, you know, obviously I'm still drunk because what was I thinking?"
"Yeah, seriously, dude. What were you thinking? Why didn't you call Lance?"
"I did call Lance. He was almost as annoying as you, and he couldn't help anyway because he's back in Mississippi. He left yesterday."
"Then it looks like you don't have much choice. Come on, tell us. What happened to your pants?"
"Fine. Whatever. You're so immature. It was this chick, I was with this chick and she got pissed at me and threw my pants out the window. That's it. End of story. You happy now?"
He waits patiently through three or four minutes of hysterical laughter, Chris and Justin cackling away like demented cartoon witches. Finally, Chris pulls himself together enough to gasp, "Sorry, sorry." He doesn't sound remotely sorry, and JC would probably hang up if he could think of someone else to call. "I know it isn't funny." Muffled giggling. "But, dude, what did you do to her?"
"Nothing. Well, you know. The usual." More muffled giggling. "Fuck. You guys are so immature. It's just, afterwards, um. I kind of told her that she looked like this guy I used to date. You remember, whatshisname? Malloy? Maury? Molly?"
"Dude, I'm pretty sure that even you've never dated a guy named Molly."
"Oh shut up. You remember him, I know you do. He wore a black leather trench coat all the time? And leather pants? And he had a shaved head?"
"Toby?"
"Yeah, yeah. Toby. I told her she looked like Toby, except I didn't use his name of course, because I couldn't remember it, but it was uncanny, man. She had that same unnerving stare, the same big feet, the same skin, all pale and blue-ish like she'd lived in a basement her whole life. I mean, her coat even had the same slit up the back, like that dude in the Matrix, and she was only wearing one earring, just like Toby. Except hers was a little silver hand and his was just a stud. But really, she could have been his twin."
"Well, except for the tits, I'm guessing. Toby wasn't much in the mammary department, as I recall."
"But, Chris! Neither was she! Teeny, tiny, itsy, microscopic little tits. From the waist up she could have totally been a guy!"
"Ah. Tell me that's not one of the comparisons you actually made to her face."
"Look, I know I was an idiot, okay? I really don't need you to tell me how big an ass I was. But, you know, in my defence, I was totally wasted and I like small tits, so. Well. Big tits, too, really, but whatever. And anyway, that wasn't really the part she got mad about. Well, she did, but she got over it. After a while. It's just, you know, when we started getting back into things, I must have passed out, just for a few seconds. Oh, quit laughing. Like you've never. I was really tired, man, and totally fucked up. Anyway, it was just for a couple of seconds, but when I woke up I was a bit disoriented and I guess I had a flashback or something because I opened my eyes and there was Toby and I thought 'oh cool' and reached for him and, you know, there wasn't anything there. Well, not what I was expecting, anyway. So I just freaked and yelled, 'Holy shit, dude, what happened to your dick?' She just flipped on me, man."
"You need a keeper, dude. I swear to god. Why didn't you just call the front desk and ask someone to go out and get the pants for you? They would've done it. I'm sure it wouldn't have been the weirdest thing they've ever been asked to do, either."
"I would have called. Probably. But, you know, she apologized for being a bitch and went down to get them. Only I was really drunk and stoned and shit, so I kind of went to sleep while I was waiting for her to come back. If she did come back, I didn't hear her, and then this morning when I looked out the window, no pants. So. I don't know what happened to them, if she kept them or threw them away or if somebody just picked them up and walked off with them or what. They're not here, anyway."
"Maybe she left them at the front desk for you."
"You know, I'm not completely helpless, Chris. I did check. I called down before I called you. God, this is fucking torture. Are you going to bring me some pants or are you going to be a bitch about this for the rest of my life?"
Chris laughs. "Don't whine. I'll get the pants. Any pants in particular, or do you want me to surprise you?"
"Just some jeans. Or maybe some cords. Not the pink ones, though."
"Not a hope in hell I'd be caught dead with those in my possession. What if I had a heart attack on the way over? My rep would be shot to hell."
"And can you maybe bring a shirt, and some underwear? And deodorant?" He runs his tongue around his mouth. "And some toothpaste and a toothbrush? And, um, my conditioner? Cause they never have the right stuff."
"Sure. Why not. Want me to throw in a couple of rolls of toilet paper, just in case Four Seasons asswipe isn't up to standard?"
"Maybe you should go fuck yourself. After you've brought me my pants. Please."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
JC has almost fallen asleep again by the time Chris gets there. He staggers to the door, remembering to clutch a pillow to his groin for modesty's sake. Not that Chris hasn't seen him naked before, but there's always the chance that it's somebody else. Somebody returning his pants, for example.
It's Chris though, whistling Hello Dolly and carrying a small pink suitcase festooned with bright blue and yellow daisies. JC stares at the case, trying to remember when he bought it and, more importantly, why he bought it. It doesn't look remotely familiar.
"That's not mine," he finally says.
Chris just grins at him. "No, I know. I brought your shit over in a plastic bag, but when I walked into the lobby, it just seemed kind of tacky. I figured you wouldn't want to check out carrying a grocery bag, so when I saw this in the gift shop window, I couldn't resist. It just seemed so you."
"You know, you're not anywhere near as funny as you think you are," he says, yanking the suitcase away from Chris.
Chris looks at him and laughs. "That's okay, freakshow. You're more than funny enough for both of us." He wrinkles his nose and waves a hand in front of his face. "Phew. Fuck, man, you totally stink. You smell like a six week old corpse. That someone jerked off all over."
"That's disgusting, Chris."
Chris isn't listening, though. He pushes past JC into the room, and as soon as he's across the threshold the atmosphere shifts from flat to electric. It's always this way with Chris. He exists at the epicentre of his own personal force field, the air just seems to crackle around him. When JC first met Chris, he had been alternately attracted and repelled, never sure whether to relax and be swept into the vortex or to start looking for a safe place to hide. It had been amusing to watch Chris scatter that manic energy around him like dandruff during rehearsals and interviews, but decidedly alarming to find it focused directly on himself.
Over the years, though, he's become accustomed to it, has come to expect and even depend on it. When he's feeling tired and wrung out, JC gravitates toward Chris, walking up behind him to rest his hands on Chris' shoulders or squeezing in next to him on the couch to borrow some of that energy. Borrowing energy. That's how he thinks of it. Chris never minds; he has more than enough to share. JC has also found that being the sole focus of that manic attention has its definite advantages. The handful of times he's slept with Chris rank among his most memorable sexual experiences.
Right now Chris is checking out the hotel room in the same thorough way he always has, peering into the bathroom and the closet, opening all the drawers in the dresser and bedside tables, flicking the TV on and off a few times, examining the contents of the mini bar and, finally, kicking off his shoes, leaping onto the bed and jumping up and down a few times.
"Hey, good bed! Great spring action. Whoo!" He gives a final bounce and settles, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. "So, tell me. Why'd you bring her here? You still have a bed at home. I saw it."
"I don't know. I'd never met her before, and she was a bit weird. It just seemed safer. She might have been an axe murderer or something, for all I knew."
"Yeah, because for sure she'd never use the axe in a hotel room."
"Well, okay. But she didn't know who I was. And if I'd brought her back to my place, she would have seen the photographs and she would have maybe figured it out, and I just thought it might be nice to have some normal sex for a change. Sometimes it just feels good to do it with someone you know isn't only there for your name. You know?"
Chris nods, watching with apparent absorption as JC lifts the suitcase onto the bed and tries to open it. "Yeah, I know, dude. Sucks to be you."
"Shut up. I'm not complaining about my life, I know how lucky I am. It's just. Oh, fuck. I don't know."
And he doesn't, really. Chris is right. Most guys would probably kill to have his life, to be able to sleep with half a dozen different people every night, if that's what he wants, to have beautiful women--and men--scribbling their phone numbers onto napkins and matchbooks and random articles of clothing for him, to never have to walk into a club not knowing whether or not he's going to be able to find someone to leave with. He's been pretty satisfied with his life up until recently. More than satisfied. Ecstatic. It's just that, lately, it's all started feeling a little bit empty. The constant flow of unfamiliar faces and bodies through his bedroom has become monotonous, and frequently tedious. Sometimes he brings people home, then finds he can't even muster the enthusiasm to do anything with them. He'll just leave them ooh-ing and ah-ing in his living room and sneak off to bed alone, feeling like an idiot.
Most of his old friends are settling down now, getting married or moving in together, making commitments. It's been going on for a while, but it hadn't really mattered that much to him until Joey told him he'd proposed to Kelly and JC's first reaction had been a startling rush of jealousy. Not that he wanted marry either Kelly or Joe himself, it wasn't that at all. In fact, he's really happy for them. He knows this is a decision Joey has been struggling with since Briahna was born and maybe even before that. It's just that in the few seconds after the announcement left Joey's lips, before JC even had time to say "hey, dude, that's awesome," he had a glimpse of his own future unfolding in front of him as a long unbroken chain of meaningless one night stands and awkward mornings after. It had left him feeling lonely and a little lost, like the only kid at the birthday party who hasn't won a prize. A residue of restlessness and dissatisfaction still lingers at the back of his mind, but he's learning to ignore it.
JC struggles with the zipper for a few more minutes, but he can't get the catch to release. He picks the suitcase up, shakes it and slams it back on the bed, punching it once for good measure. "You want to give me a hand here? I can't get the stupid thing open."
Chris smiles, reaches into his pocket and tosses him a key. "You're too easy, Chasez. But you're awfully cute when you're mad."
"Asshole."
He's not too angry, though. At least Chris seems to have brought everything he asked for. He hums happily to himself, as he pulls out a pair of cords, a tee shirt and a plastic bag full of toiletries. He looks over at Chris to thank him, but the quickly hidden smirk on Chris' face stops him. Looking back at the pile on the bed, he sees what Chris is finding so damned amusing and why he'd found the suitcase so irresistible. The tee shirt is bright pink with a yellow flower appliqued in the centre, and the cords are powder blue, almost the exact shade of the daisies on the suitcase. JC's going to look like a total dork when he carries the bag through the lobby. Whatever, at least he has pants.
"Um, where's the underwear?"
"Folded into the tee shirt, dude. Didn't want them to get lost."
JC shakes open the tee shirt and a filmy leopard print thong floats onto the bed. He glances over at Chris who is smiling innocently at him.
"Those okay? I couldn't figure out what drawer you kept your undies in so I took the liberty of buying those for you as well. Are they the right size?"
"I'm just. I'm going to have a shower now." JC picks up the pile of clothes and heads toward the bathroom. "Um, do you want to hang around and maybe go to breakfast? My treat, since you were nice enough to get my stuff."
"It's three in the afternoon, Chasez. I had breakfast like a million years ago. But yeah, I'll wait. You go get clean."
"Stay out of the minibar, man. That stuff costs a fortune," JC calls back from the bathroom. There's no answer, which means Chris probably already has his head stuffed in the fridge. "I mean it, Chris. You touch anything in there and you're paying for it. Oh, and can you please pass me the conditioner and toothpaste and shit?" He turns around, almost bumping into Chris who's right there in the bathroom doorway holding out the toiletry bag. "Oh, cool Thanks."
He empties the bag, Chris watching him silently from the doorway. "Um, you can go watch TV, if you want."
"Yeah. No, thanks. I think I'll watch you instead. You're more amusing. And also? This way if you drop the soap, I'll be right there. It'll be like an interactive prison movie."
JC laughs and gives Chris a little push to get him out of the room, but he might as well be trying to shift a refrigerator or maybe the Statue of Liberty. Chris doesn't budge, just runs his eyes slowly over JC in a steady head to toe inventory that makes JC want to either wrap himself in a towel or get down on his knees. Before he has a chance to do either, Chris' hands are on him, sliding around to pull him in tight, stroking his back, squeezing his ass, sketching a trail of heat across his skin.
"C'mere," Chris mutters into his neck when JC tries to pull back. "Mmm. Fuck, you feel good."
And he's right, it does feel good, it feels fucking fantastic, but they can't do this right now because, because, "Yeah, but wait. Wait, Chris. Let go. You just said I stink. I'm gross. I need a shower, dude."
.
"No point. I'm just going to get you dirty again. I like you stinky. It's hot."
JC starts to snicker, but then there are teeth against his throat, the cool tile of the bathroom wall against his back, the solid weight of Chris pinning him in place, and the sound that finally makes it past his lips has very little to do with amusement.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
By the time Chris drops him off at home, JC is feeling pretty good. His hangover has completely disappeared, he's got pants and only three people snickered when he walked out of the hotel with his hot pink suitcase and matching t-shirt. Best of all, he feels more alive than he has for weeks -- clear-headed, refreshed and optimistic. He smiles happily as he unlocks his door. Sex with Chris is like that, wild and quirky, completely unpredictable, and it leaves you feeling like you've just had a really thorough spring cleaning. It's like driving really, really fast late at night when there's hardly anyone else on the roads and it seems like you could go forever without touching the horizon -- a total physical and mental rush.
If he ever does find someone to settle down with, JC thinks as he steps into the house, that person will have to be able to make sex as exciting as Chris does. Otherwise, JC will just have to cheat once in a while. Like anytime Chris asks him to, for example.
As he turns to punch in his alarm code, JC pauses, fingers poised over the keypad. Chris. Chris. Why not Chris? Chris is single. He's smart, and funny, and he doesn't hang out with JC because JC's famous. He's so good in bed that JC would never even think about all the other sex he'd be giving up. And he's one of JC's best friends, so JC loves him already. What could be more perfect?
There's just one small problem. JC's had sex with Chris a grand total of maybe seven times. He never knows when it's going to happen, or where it's going to happen, and when it's over, he's never able to figure out how to make it happen again.
The first time, they were in Germany. They hadn't been there long, maybe four or five months. Long enough for the novelty to have worn thin, excitement giving way to an endless sameness of day after day of rehearsal, performance, interviews, media coaching, dingy hotel rooms and no privacy. It wasn't so much homesickness he felt as it was frustration with never having a moment to himself. JC loved the guys, more all the time, but working with them all day, hanging out with them in the evenings and sharing a room with at least one and sometimes two of them every night was beginning to take its toll. Even back in Florida, when they'd spent crazy hours rehearsing and performing, he'd always managed to grab a few hours alone to unwind, to just kick back and let his mind chill. After six months of group togetherness, JC had thought his head was about to implode.
At first he managed to keep the tension all neatly tamped down. None of the other guys seemed to be having privacy issues. As far as JC could tell, they were having the time of their lives, and he didn't want to hurt their feelings by telling them they were driving him round the bend. He was pretty sure Lance was kind of sensitive about stuff like that, and Chris too, in his own weird way, and he didn't want them to feel rejected or maybe even get pissed off with him for being such a downer.
So he sucked it up, pretended everything was fine, and tried to spend as much time as possible in bed. Eventually, though, the resentment started leaking out around the edges. He found himself getting short tempered and cranky, snapping at the other guys over the smallest thing, especially Justin who was just too young to know when to back off, and Chris who was too hyper to back off even when he knew he should.
It came to a head one afternoon when JC couldn't find his water bottle after rehearsal and pitched a tantrum of embarrassing proportions. He yelled, threw his towel and sweatshirt and shoes, and accused Justin of hiding the water bottle, and all the while the guys just stood there with their mouths open looking as shocked as if he'd lobbed a grenade across the room.
Until Chris walked over, grabbed a fistful of JC's sweaty t-shirt and shoved him back against the wall. He ordered everyone else out of the room and then stared at JC until JC wasn't even angry anymore, just tired and embarrassed.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?"
JC just shook his head and muttered, "Nothing. Nothing. I'm sorry. I'm just tired."
Chris glared at him. "Considering how much time you spend in bed, I don't see how that's humanly possible."
He stared at JC speculatively for a couple of minutes and then asked, "So, tell me, Chasez. When was the last time you got laid?"
JC was shocked. He just didn't talk about his sex life with the guys at this point in their lives. This was early days, after all, back when they were still hanging on to the idea that some things were personal and could actually stay that way. Well, JC was hanging on to that illusion, anyway. Joey and Chris talked about their sex lives with anyone they could pin down long enough, and Justin and Lance didn't have sex lives yet, at least as far as JC knew.
In fact, JC hadn't had sex since they arrived in Germany. Back then he'd been pretty selective about his bed partners. He'd only slept with maybe one girl and a couple of guys, and none of them had been one night stands. At any rate, he was startled enough by Chris' question to actually answer truthfully.
"Um. A week before we left home?"
Chris nodded and released JC's shirt, giving his chest a little pat. "Well, dude, I think you're way overdue."
Before JC could haul him back over the line he'd just crossed, Chris waved him quiet. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."
And Chris walked out without another word, leaving JC wondering what he might have in mind. He thought maybe Chris would hire a hooker for him, or worse, get Joey to loan him one of his girls for an evening. Not that Joey's girls were worse than hookers, really, but having to borrow your friends' dates was just plain humiliating. Or maybe next time he went clubbing with Chris and Joey, Chris would force him to pick someone up. He couldn't really force him, though. Not if JC didn't want to. Probably. Except that it was Chris, so yeah, probably he could.
In any event, when Chris and Joey left that night, Chris didn't say anything, didn't even a hint that maybe JC might like to come along this time, so that was okay, anyway. JC went to bed half expecting Chris to show up around midnight with a hooker in tow. He was pretty sure he didn't want that to happen.
What he wasn't expecting was for Chris to return two or three hours later, strip down without a word and slide in next to him under the covers. JC had been too shocked to do more than gasp "um, um, um" as Chris wrestled his boxers off and settled between his legs. When Chris paused, his mouth about half an inch away from JC's dick , to ask, "Hey, you do sleep with guys, don't you?" JC almost dislocated his neck trying to nod his head yes.
Part 2 can be found here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/sola_fiamma/19481.html#cutid1
[Edited to remove link to defunct website - link to story is below]l
It's TrickC, long-ish, and probably closer to P-13 than anything else, although I'm a terrible judge of such things. If you encounter any glitches on the website, please let me know and I will rip the rest of my hair out.
If you prefer to read it on lj, please step inside:
Written for the Small Change challenge (although it's so late you'd think I'd be embarrassed to admit it). Thanks to Budge once again for the beta. Feedback? Why, yes, please. Just leave comment below or email me at sola_fiamma@yahoo.ca.
Disclaimer: It's fiction, folks.
Best Laid Plans
by Sola Fiamma
Drive all night, take some speed
Wait for the sun to shine down on me.
When JC opens his eyes the room is dark and unfamiliar, his head is thick with sleep and the residue of last night's partying, and there's a decidedly unpleasant smell in the air. It takes him almost ten minutes to wake up enough to remember that the room is unfamiliar because he's in a hotel and to realize that the horrible smell is coming from him, an almost palpable reek of sour sweat, cigarette smoke and stale sex.
It takes him another ten minutes of blinking, stretching and trying not to breathe through his nose to remember he doesn't have any pants.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
"Speak to me, baby."
"Um, Chris?"
"JC? Hey, dude. Just, uh, hang on a sec." Chris sounds distracted and JC worries that he's woken him up which wouldn't be good because even though Chris tends to need very little sleep and wakes up on a whisper, he also tends be cranky if he's woken up before he's ready. "Hah! Okay, yeah, sorry about that."
"No, it's fine. Are you still in L.A.?"
"Uh huh."
"And are you, like, busy? I didn't wake you up, did I?"
"No, man. It's cool. Just whipping Justin's ass at Halo. Again. What's up?"
It seems awfully early for Justin to be up, but maybe they haven't been to bed yet. Which also wouldn't be good, because if Chris is drunk, he's not going to be able to drive, but then again, he can always take a cab, so.
"I was hoping. Well. Could you maybe-. Do you think you could do me a favour? Like, I really need you to do me a favour, Chris. Really."
"What do you need, C?" Chris' voice is suddenly serious.
"Could you maybe go to my place and pick up a pair of pants for me? And bring them here? Please?" He says it quickly, matter-of-factly, like he's asking Chris to pass him the salt or read him the horoscope section of the newspaper. If he doesn't make a big deal out of this, maybe Chris won't notice the request is a bit weird. Except, of course, it's Chris.
"Where are you, dude?"
"Um." JC gropes for the bedside lamp and flicks it on, scanning the room for some sort of clue. "Uh, the Beverly Hilton? Just hang on." There's a card on the bedside table, one of those laminated menus you hang on the door if you want to pre-order breakfast. He studies it for a minute, appalled as usual at how much it costs just to get lukewarm eggs and soggy toast delivered to your room
"C?"
"No, sorry. It's the Four Seasons. In, uh," he consults the card again. "In Beverly Hills, I guess. Can you bring them, though? My pants?"
"You're at the Four Seasons with no pants?" There's some muttering in the background, but JC can only make out occasional words, like "hotel", "no fucking pants" and "crazy goddamned bastard". Then Chris is back saying, "Justin would like to know, and yeah, I'm curious too, just what the hell are you doing at the Four Fucking Seasons without your clothes?"
JC sighs. He should have known there was no way this wasn't going to be humiliating.
"Look, can't I just tell you when you get here?"
"Well, no. No, you absolutely can't, Chasez. Because when I get there, you'll have your pants, won't you, and then you're not going to have any reason to tell me. So. Go, dude. Why are you prancing around naked in the heart of Beverly Hills?"
"Fuck. You're so annoying. You're a total asshole. And so's Justin. I hate you both. Look. I had my pants when I got here. It's not like I forgot to put them on or anything. They just kind of aren't here any more. And I am. And I need them, Chris, so come on, will you please stop fooling around and just get me some pants already?"
"Isn't this why you have a personal assistant?"
"I'm not calling him! God, Chris, do you want me to just die of embarrassment? I was kind of hoping to get out of this situation with a little bit of dignity. Which is why I called you. Which, you know, obviously I'm still drunk because what was I thinking?"
"Yeah, seriously, dude. What were you thinking? Why didn't you call Lance?"
"I did call Lance. He was almost as annoying as you, and he couldn't help anyway because he's back in Mississippi. He left yesterday."
"Then it looks like you don't have much choice. Come on, tell us. What happened to your pants?"
"Fine. Whatever. You're so immature. It was this chick, I was with this chick and she got pissed at me and threw my pants out the window. That's it. End of story. You happy now?"
He waits patiently through three or four minutes of hysterical laughter, Chris and Justin cackling away like demented cartoon witches. Finally, Chris pulls himself together enough to gasp, "Sorry, sorry." He doesn't sound remotely sorry, and JC would probably hang up if he could think of someone else to call. "I know it isn't funny." Muffled giggling. "But, dude, what did you do to her?"
"Nothing. Well, you know. The usual." More muffled giggling. "Fuck. You guys are so immature. It's just, afterwards, um. I kind of told her that she looked like this guy I used to date. You remember, whatshisname? Malloy? Maury? Molly?"
"Dude, I'm pretty sure that even you've never dated a guy named Molly."
"Oh shut up. You remember him, I know you do. He wore a black leather trench coat all the time? And leather pants? And he had a shaved head?"
"Toby?"
"Yeah, yeah. Toby. I told her she looked like Toby, except I didn't use his name of course, because I couldn't remember it, but it was uncanny, man. She had that same unnerving stare, the same big feet, the same skin, all pale and blue-ish like she'd lived in a basement her whole life. I mean, her coat even had the same slit up the back, like that dude in the Matrix, and she was only wearing one earring, just like Toby. Except hers was a little silver hand and his was just a stud. But really, she could have been his twin."
"Well, except for the tits, I'm guessing. Toby wasn't much in the mammary department, as I recall."
"But, Chris! Neither was she! Teeny, tiny, itsy, microscopic little tits. From the waist up she could have totally been a guy!"
"Ah. Tell me that's not one of the comparisons you actually made to her face."
"Look, I know I was an idiot, okay? I really don't need you to tell me how big an ass I was. But, you know, in my defence, I was totally wasted and I like small tits, so. Well. Big tits, too, really, but whatever. And anyway, that wasn't really the part she got mad about. Well, she did, but she got over it. After a while. It's just, you know, when we started getting back into things, I must have passed out, just for a few seconds. Oh, quit laughing. Like you've never. I was really tired, man, and totally fucked up. Anyway, it was just for a couple of seconds, but when I woke up I was a bit disoriented and I guess I had a flashback or something because I opened my eyes and there was Toby and I thought 'oh cool' and reached for him and, you know, there wasn't anything there. Well, not what I was expecting, anyway. So I just freaked and yelled, 'Holy shit, dude, what happened to your dick?' She just flipped on me, man."
"You need a keeper, dude. I swear to god. Why didn't you just call the front desk and ask someone to go out and get the pants for you? They would've done it. I'm sure it wouldn't have been the weirdest thing they've ever been asked to do, either."
"I would have called. Probably. But, you know, she apologized for being a bitch and went down to get them. Only I was really drunk and stoned and shit, so I kind of went to sleep while I was waiting for her to come back. If she did come back, I didn't hear her, and then this morning when I looked out the window, no pants. So. I don't know what happened to them, if she kept them or threw them away or if somebody just picked them up and walked off with them or what. They're not here, anyway."
"Maybe she left them at the front desk for you."
"You know, I'm not completely helpless, Chris. I did check. I called down before I called you. God, this is fucking torture. Are you going to bring me some pants or are you going to be a bitch about this for the rest of my life?"
Chris laughs. "Don't whine. I'll get the pants. Any pants in particular, or do you want me to surprise you?"
"Just some jeans. Or maybe some cords. Not the pink ones, though."
"Not a hope in hell I'd be caught dead with those in my possession. What if I had a heart attack on the way over? My rep would be shot to hell."
"And can you maybe bring a shirt, and some underwear? And deodorant?" He runs his tongue around his mouth. "And some toothpaste and a toothbrush? And, um, my conditioner? Cause they never have the right stuff."
"Sure. Why not. Want me to throw in a couple of rolls of toilet paper, just in case Four Seasons asswipe isn't up to standard?"
"Maybe you should go fuck yourself. After you've brought me my pants. Please."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
JC has almost fallen asleep again by the time Chris gets there. He staggers to the door, remembering to clutch a pillow to his groin for modesty's sake. Not that Chris hasn't seen him naked before, but there's always the chance that it's somebody else. Somebody returning his pants, for example.
It's Chris though, whistling Hello Dolly and carrying a small pink suitcase festooned with bright blue and yellow daisies. JC stares at the case, trying to remember when he bought it and, more importantly, why he bought it. It doesn't look remotely familiar.
"That's not mine," he finally says.
Chris just grins at him. "No, I know. I brought your shit over in a plastic bag, but when I walked into the lobby, it just seemed kind of tacky. I figured you wouldn't want to check out carrying a grocery bag, so when I saw this in the gift shop window, I couldn't resist. It just seemed so you."
"You know, you're not anywhere near as funny as you think you are," he says, yanking the suitcase away from Chris.
Chris looks at him and laughs. "That's okay, freakshow. You're more than funny enough for both of us." He wrinkles his nose and waves a hand in front of his face. "Phew. Fuck, man, you totally stink. You smell like a six week old corpse. That someone jerked off all over."
"That's disgusting, Chris."
Chris isn't listening, though. He pushes past JC into the room, and as soon as he's across the threshold the atmosphere shifts from flat to electric. It's always this way with Chris. He exists at the epicentre of his own personal force field, the air just seems to crackle around him. When JC first met Chris, he had been alternately attracted and repelled, never sure whether to relax and be swept into the vortex or to start looking for a safe place to hide. It had been amusing to watch Chris scatter that manic energy around him like dandruff during rehearsals and interviews, but decidedly alarming to find it focused directly on himself.
Over the years, though, he's become accustomed to it, has come to expect and even depend on it. When he's feeling tired and wrung out, JC gravitates toward Chris, walking up behind him to rest his hands on Chris' shoulders or squeezing in next to him on the couch to borrow some of that energy. Borrowing energy. That's how he thinks of it. Chris never minds; he has more than enough to share. JC has also found that being the sole focus of that manic attention has its definite advantages. The handful of times he's slept with Chris rank among his most memorable sexual experiences.
Right now Chris is checking out the hotel room in the same thorough way he always has, peering into the bathroom and the closet, opening all the drawers in the dresser and bedside tables, flicking the TV on and off a few times, examining the contents of the mini bar and, finally, kicking off his shoes, leaping onto the bed and jumping up and down a few times.
"Hey, good bed! Great spring action. Whoo!" He gives a final bounce and settles, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. "So, tell me. Why'd you bring her here? You still have a bed at home. I saw it."
"I don't know. I'd never met her before, and she was a bit weird. It just seemed safer. She might have been an axe murderer or something, for all I knew."
"Yeah, because for sure she'd never use the axe in a hotel room."
"Well, okay. But she didn't know who I was. And if I'd brought her back to my place, she would have seen the photographs and she would have maybe figured it out, and I just thought it might be nice to have some normal sex for a change. Sometimes it just feels good to do it with someone you know isn't only there for your name. You know?"
Chris nods, watching with apparent absorption as JC lifts the suitcase onto the bed and tries to open it. "Yeah, I know, dude. Sucks to be you."
"Shut up. I'm not complaining about my life, I know how lucky I am. It's just. Oh, fuck. I don't know."
And he doesn't, really. Chris is right. Most guys would probably kill to have his life, to be able to sleep with half a dozen different people every night, if that's what he wants, to have beautiful women--and men--scribbling their phone numbers onto napkins and matchbooks and random articles of clothing for him, to never have to walk into a club not knowing whether or not he's going to be able to find someone to leave with. He's been pretty satisfied with his life up until recently. More than satisfied. Ecstatic. It's just that, lately, it's all started feeling a little bit empty. The constant flow of unfamiliar faces and bodies through his bedroom has become monotonous, and frequently tedious. Sometimes he brings people home, then finds he can't even muster the enthusiasm to do anything with them. He'll just leave them ooh-ing and ah-ing in his living room and sneak off to bed alone, feeling like an idiot.
Most of his old friends are settling down now, getting married or moving in together, making commitments. It's been going on for a while, but it hadn't really mattered that much to him until Joey told him he'd proposed to Kelly and JC's first reaction had been a startling rush of jealousy. Not that he wanted marry either Kelly or Joe himself, it wasn't that at all. In fact, he's really happy for them. He knows this is a decision Joey has been struggling with since Briahna was born and maybe even before that. It's just that in the few seconds after the announcement left Joey's lips, before JC even had time to say "hey, dude, that's awesome," he had a glimpse of his own future unfolding in front of him as a long unbroken chain of meaningless one night stands and awkward mornings after. It had left him feeling lonely and a little lost, like the only kid at the birthday party who hasn't won a prize. A residue of restlessness and dissatisfaction still lingers at the back of his mind, but he's learning to ignore it.
JC struggles with the zipper for a few more minutes, but he can't get the catch to release. He picks the suitcase up, shakes it and slams it back on the bed, punching it once for good measure. "You want to give me a hand here? I can't get the stupid thing open."
Chris smiles, reaches into his pocket and tosses him a key. "You're too easy, Chasez. But you're awfully cute when you're mad."
"Asshole."
He's not too angry, though. At least Chris seems to have brought everything he asked for. He hums happily to himself, as he pulls out a pair of cords, a tee shirt and a plastic bag full of toiletries. He looks over at Chris to thank him, but the quickly hidden smirk on Chris' face stops him. Looking back at the pile on the bed, he sees what Chris is finding so damned amusing and why he'd found the suitcase so irresistible. The tee shirt is bright pink with a yellow flower appliqued in the centre, and the cords are powder blue, almost the exact shade of the daisies on the suitcase. JC's going to look like a total dork when he carries the bag through the lobby. Whatever, at least he has pants.
"Um, where's the underwear?"
"Folded into the tee shirt, dude. Didn't want them to get lost."
JC shakes open the tee shirt and a filmy leopard print thong floats onto the bed. He glances over at Chris who is smiling innocently at him.
"Those okay? I couldn't figure out what drawer you kept your undies in so I took the liberty of buying those for you as well. Are they the right size?"
"I'm just. I'm going to have a shower now." JC picks up the pile of clothes and heads toward the bathroom. "Um, do you want to hang around and maybe go to breakfast? My treat, since you were nice enough to get my stuff."
"It's three in the afternoon, Chasez. I had breakfast like a million years ago. But yeah, I'll wait. You go get clean."
"Stay out of the minibar, man. That stuff costs a fortune," JC calls back from the bathroom. There's no answer, which means Chris probably already has his head stuffed in the fridge. "I mean it, Chris. You touch anything in there and you're paying for it. Oh, and can you please pass me the conditioner and toothpaste and shit?" He turns around, almost bumping into Chris who's right there in the bathroom doorway holding out the toiletry bag. "Oh, cool Thanks."
He empties the bag, Chris watching him silently from the doorway. "Um, you can go watch TV, if you want."
"Yeah. No, thanks. I think I'll watch you instead. You're more amusing. And also? This way if you drop the soap, I'll be right there. It'll be like an interactive prison movie."
JC laughs and gives Chris a little push to get him out of the room, but he might as well be trying to shift a refrigerator or maybe the Statue of Liberty. Chris doesn't budge, just runs his eyes slowly over JC in a steady head to toe inventory that makes JC want to either wrap himself in a towel or get down on his knees. Before he has a chance to do either, Chris' hands are on him, sliding around to pull him in tight, stroking his back, squeezing his ass, sketching a trail of heat across his skin.
"C'mere," Chris mutters into his neck when JC tries to pull back. "Mmm. Fuck, you feel good."
And he's right, it does feel good, it feels fucking fantastic, but they can't do this right now because, because, "Yeah, but wait. Wait, Chris. Let go. You just said I stink. I'm gross. I need a shower, dude."
.
"No point. I'm just going to get you dirty again. I like you stinky. It's hot."
JC starts to snicker, but then there are teeth against his throat, the cool tile of the bathroom wall against his back, the solid weight of Chris pinning him in place, and the sound that finally makes it past his lips has very little to do with amusement.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
By the time Chris drops him off at home, JC is feeling pretty good. His hangover has completely disappeared, he's got pants and only three people snickered when he walked out of the hotel with his hot pink suitcase and matching t-shirt. Best of all, he feels more alive than he has for weeks -- clear-headed, refreshed and optimistic. He smiles happily as he unlocks his door. Sex with Chris is like that, wild and quirky, completely unpredictable, and it leaves you feeling like you've just had a really thorough spring cleaning. It's like driving really, really fast late at night when there's hardly anyone else on the roads and it seems like you could go forever without touching the horizon -- a total physical and mental rush.
If he ever does find someone to settle down with, JC thinks as he steps into the house, that person will have to be able to make sex as exciting as Chris does. Otherwise, JC will just have to cheat once in a while. Like anytime Chris asks him to, for example.
As he turns to punch in his alarm code, JC pauses, fingers poised over the keypad. Chris. Chris. Why not Chris? Chris is single. He's smart, and funny, and he doesn't hang out with JC because JC's famous. He's so good in bed that JC would never even think about all the other sex he'd be giving up. And he's one of JC's best friends, so JC loves him already. What could be more perfect?
There's just one small problem. JC's had sex with Chris a grand total of maybe seven times. He never knows when it's going to happen, or where it's going to happen, and when it's over, he's never able to figure out how to make it happen again.
The first time, they were in Germany. They hadn't been there long, maybe four or five months. Long enough for the novelty to have worn thin, excitement giving way to an endless sameness of day after day of rehearsal, performance, interviews, media coaching, dingy hotel rooms and no privacy. It wasn't so much homesickness he felt as it was frustration with never having a moment to himself. JC loved the guys, more all the time, but working with them all day, hanging out with them in the evenings and sharing a room with at least one and sometimes two of them every night was beginning to take its toll. Even back in Florida, when they'd spent crazy hours rehearsing and performing, he'd always managed to grab a few hours alone to unwind, to just kick back and let his mind chill. After six months of group togetherness, JC had thought his head was about to implode.
At first he managed to keep the tension all neatly tamped down. None of the other guys seemed to be having privacy issues. As far as JC could tell, they were having the time of their lives, and he didn't want to hurt their feelings by telling them they were driving him round the bend. He was pretty sure Lance was kind of sensitive about stuff like that, and Chris too, in his own weird way, and he didn't want them to feel rejected or maybe even get pissed off with him for being such a downer.
So he sucked it up, pretended everything was fine, and tried to spend as much time as possible in bed. Eventually, though, the resentment started leaking out around the edges. He found himself getting short tempered and cranky, snapping at the other guys over the smallest thing, especially Justin who was just too young to know when to back off, and Chris who was too hyper to back off even when he knew he should.
It came to a head one afternoon when JC couldn't find his water bottle after rehearsal and pitched a tantrum of embarrassing proportions. He yelled, threw his towel and sweatshirt and shoes, and accused Justin of hiding the water bottle, and all the while the guys just stood there with their mouths open looking as shocked as if he'd lobbed a grenade across the room.
Until Chris walked over, grabbed a fistful of JC's sweaty t-shirt and shoved him back against the wall. He ordered everyone else out of the room and then stared at JC until JC wasn't even angry anymore, just tired and embarrassed.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?"
JC just shook his head and muttered, "Nothing. Nothing. I'm sorry. I'm just tired."
Chris glared at him. "Considering how much time you spend in bed, I don't see how that's humanly possible."
He stared at JC speculatively for a couple of minutes and then asked, "So, tell me, Chasez. When was the last time you got laid?"
JC was shocked. He just didn't talk about his sex life with the guys at this point in their lives. This was early days, after all, back when they were still hanging on to the idea that some things were personal and could actually stay that way. Well, JC was hanging on to that illusion, anyway. Joey and Chris talked about their sex lives with anyone they could pin down long enough, and Justin and Lance didn't have sex lives yet, at least as far as JC knew.
In fact, JC hadn't had sex since they arrived in Germany. Back then he'd been pretty selective about his bed partners. He'd only slept with maybe one girl and a couple of guys, and none of them had been one night stands. At any rate, he was startled enough by Chris' question to actually answer truthfully.
"Um. A week before we left home?"
Chris nodded and released JC's shirt, giving his chest a little pat. "Well, dude, I think you're way overdue."
Before JC could haul him back over the line he'd just crossed, Chris waved him quiet. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."
And Chris walked out without another word, leaving JC wondering what he might have in mind. He thought maybe Chris would hire a hooker for him, or worse, get Joey to loan him one of his girls for an evening. Not that Joey's girls were worse than hookers, really, but having to borrow your friends' dates was just plain humiliating. Or maybe next time he went clubbing with Chris and Joey, Chris would force him to pick someone up. He couldn't really force him, though. Not if JC didn't want to. Probably. Except that it was Chris, so yeah, probably he could.
In any event, when Chris and Joey left that night, Chris didn't say anything, didn't even a hint that maybe JC might like to come along this time, so that was okay, anyway. JC went to bed half expecting Chris to show up around midnight with a hooker in tow. He was pretty sure he didn't want that to happen.
What he wasn't expecting was for Chris to return two or three hours later, strip down without a word and slide in next to him under the covers. JC had been too shocked to do more than gasp "um, um, um" as Chris wrestled his boxers off and settled between his legs. When Chris paused, his mouth about half an inch away from JC's dick , to ask, "Hey, you do sleep with guys, don't you?" JC almost dislocated his neck trying to nod his head yes.
Part 2 can be found here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/sola_fiamma/19481.html#cutid1
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"Pansy means 'thought' in French, you know."
"Merde means shit."
"Uh huh."
I don't know why. It's just so them, in a story filled with them. I love how kooky and off-kilter they are, and Justin and Lance and Joey are really well done, too. Thanks for this!
I couldn't get the internal links from section to section to work, though. :)
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This was very funny, with excellent dialogue. I love a good dialogue based fic, and this is definitely one. Thank you for brightening my morning with JC's and Chris's issues!
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Right, here goes.
*wibble*
...
and with the dirty, and the bathroom wall and the excellent dialogue and everything all the way through to JC's mixed up bizarre but strangely workable metaphor - yay!
You rock. This is just wonderful.
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