(no subject)

[solafiamma]

(Very slightly belated) Happy New Year to all of you!

I'm feeling ever so vaguely pouty that I only managed to read ten of the SeSa stories before the great reveal, but on the other hand, hard to feel too unhappy about it because, yay! I still have more than a hundred stories to go.

This was my first year participating in DWNOGA. I'd kind of wanted to do it last year, but I'd only written one story and it had taken me two thousand and seventy billion months to write that one, so I didn't, and I wasn't going to again this year because even if I have gotten a little faster, I still think it's going to take me two thousand and seventy billion months to write a story, but Lily said, "don't be such an idiot, you just write an outline and stick to it" (except without the idiot part), and so I did. It's been way more fun than I'd expected: stressful, yes, but in a good, nice-to-have-so-much-company kind of way. A huge thank you apetslife and eponymous for making it all possible.

And how very, very cool it is to find out that lilysaid was my Secret Santa. Lily was the very first person to send me feedback on my first story, was the second person I ever chatted with on AIM, and is one of my absolute favourite writers in any fandom, so this was just cooler than cool. Even cooler though is that she wrote me find you out, which is six or seven times more wonderful a story than I could have hoped for.

The story I wrote for tiggergirl was In Your Dreams which would probably still be a sad, unfinished little mess on my hard drive if nonchop hadn't given me a good couple of whaps on the virtual head to jolt me out of my panic, and if i_naiad hadn't been there to cheer me on through the last frantic couple of days. Thanks as always to my sister for the beta.

In Your Dreams
by Sola Fiamma

JC wakes up with a start, almost toppling himself out of the bunk. It can't be time to get up, because he can't hear Chris and Justin outside the bathroom door, yelling and laughing and trying to muscle one another out of the way. Same ritual every morning, they're better than an alarm clock. Better than JC's anyway, which he never remembers to set.

He lifts the curtain and peers out the window. Freeway lights, rolling blacktop and the night sky stretching into the distance. Definitely not time to get up. A dream, then. Closing his eyes again, he tries to tease the details back out of his subconscious mind. Or is it his unconscious mind? Whatever, he can feel the dream back there somewhere, tickling at his brain, so close. And, oh, yes, there it is . . .

. . . water. He's surrounded by water, bobbing up and down in some kind of canoe, and he's not sure why he's there because he's not dressed for boating, he's wearing a tuxedo and cowboy boots, and the sun is sliding behind a cloud, and this seems like a really stupid time to be out on the water. He's thinking of heading for shore, except there is no shore, just miles and miles of ocean in every direction, and the wind whipping at the waves. Someone laughs, and suddenly he sees Lance, about twenty feet away from the canoe, swimming slowly in the opposite direction.

He tries to call Lance's name, but the wind is bigger now, louder, and stronger, and if words come out of his mouth, they're just as quickly blown back in. The ocean is bigger, too, angrier, waves crashing against the boat and heaving it up and down in the water. As the skies open up and the rain comes down, Lance remains oblivious, swimming aimlessly about in the ever more dangerous sea. Grabbing on to the sides of the canoe for balance, JC tries to stand. He wants to throw Lance a life preserver or a rope, but he can't let go of the sides of the canoe or he's going to tumble right over the edge. And then just as suddenly as he appeared, Lance is gone again, nothing but grey-green sea where he'd been paddling, and JC is frantic, he's shouting as loud as he can and trying to row the canoe toward where he thinks he last saw Lance, and he sees something, a flicker of golden hair pushed up and under the waves again, so close, so close. He reaches into the water, trying desperately to find with his fingers what he can't with his eyes, and then the boat pitches wildly, and that's it, he's tipping headfirst over the edge of the canoe, sinking to the bottom of the ice cold sea . . .

JC shivers under his blankets, heart still pounding. Freaky dream. Vivid, too. Freaky and vivid, and, oh god, what if it's a prophetic dream like people sometimes have when their family members die in a city three thousand miles away or something. Shit.

Joey answers on the third ring, groggy and faint, like he really is three thousand miles away instead of just a few car lengths away on the other bus. "Mmm, huh?"

"Joe, it's me. Look, is Lance okay?"

"Lance? Um, I guess. Why wouldn't he be?"

"Can you check? Please? Like, right now? I had a dream, and. Never mind. Will you just check?"

"You dreamt something happened to Lance? And you called me? Why didn't you call Lance?"

"Well, I would have, but I didn't want to waste time if he was, like, choking or something. And if he was okay, I didn't want to wake him up. You know."

"Oh, right, sure. Wouldn't want to wake Lance."

"Joey. Please. Go check. Now."

There's a heavy sigh at the other end of the line, but Joey goes. He's back in a couple of minutes.

"C? He's fine. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Are you sure? Did you check to make sure he was still breathing? Just because he's lying there doesn't mean--"

"I didn't need to check. He yelled at me to turn the light out and fuck off. I took that as proof positive of his continued existence."

Thank god. "Thanks, Joe. Sorry for waking you."

"Yeah, okay. S'fine. Go back to sleep."

"No, wait. Don't you want to hear about the dream?"

"Not really, no."

"But, Joe, what if it was some kind of warning and I go back to sleep and forget about it? Something terrible could happen. I have to tell you. But don't worry, it's short. See, I was in the middle of this ocean, or at least I'm pretty sure it was an ocean. It could have been a lake on a really windy day, except I don't think there was any wind, not at first. It kind of reminded me of that painting we saw . . ."

JC has to wake Joey up no fewer than three times before he finishes, but he makes him repeat the important parts, so he knows he's got it. Cool. He can go back to sleep now.

"Oh, hey, man. Better not say anything to the others. I wouldn't want to freak them out."


**********

Breakfast is eggs and bacon and hotcakes at some restaurant in Cincinnati where they have eight different kinds of syrups. Chris and Justin have to try each one of them, and then try them all again, and by the end of the meal Joey practically has to sit on Chris to stop him from wresting the syrups out of the waitress's grasp when she starts to clear their table. Justin is giggling hysterically, and Lance, who's already bawled Chris out for stealing his last hotcake, looks like he's trying to pretend he doesn't know any of them.

"Can you make him stop kicking me, please?" he says to Joey, who shrugs and looks doubtful.

Chris stops struggling and grins at JC. "Hey, spazmeister. Maybe this is what the dream was trying to warn you about. Maybe it was trying to save Lance from the perils of," he waggles his sticky hands in Lance's direction, "syrup fingers!"

"Hey!" JC pushes Joey. "Hey, I thought you weren't going to tell anyone!"

Joey shrugs unapologetically. "I thought it would be safer if more of us knew," he says, setting everyone else off.

"Yeah, don't worry, Lance! We'll save you!" Justin yells, throwing his body protectively across Lance. JC wants to push him off, because his fingers are probably every bit as sticky as Chris' and Lance really hates it when people mess him up and make him dirty. Although, really, you'd think he'd be used to it by now. In fact, Lance doesn't look too perturbed. He just moves back a bit in the booth to accommodate Justin's body and wraps an arm around him.

"Oh, be quiet," JC says. "Look, it was a really vivid dream and it freaked me the fuck out, okay? I just think. Well, I think Lance should be careful, that's all. Maybe just be cautious around water for a while."

"Yeah, Lance. Stay out of the hotel pool. There might be sharks!" Chris shrieks the last word so loudly that Joey slaps a hand over his mouth, and smiles a general apology around the restaurant. "Shh! Idiot."

"You're all very amusing. I'm not saying you should necessarily stay away from the pool," he tells Lance, ignoring Justin giggling uncontrollably against Lance's chest. "Just. You know. Don't go in alone. If you feel like going for a swim, let me know and I'll come and watch out for you."

"Yeah, well, that would be really reassuring, JC, except, as I recall, in your dream you let me drown."

They're all laughing now, even JC, because it is funny, even though it isn't. It's probably not a good idea to mock the messages that come to you in dreams, too much like tempting fate. Not that he actually believes in that stuff, not exactly. He crosses his fingers under the table, just in case, and squeezes his eyes shut to offer up a quick apology to whatever supernatural force may or may not have been responsible for this particular dream. When he looks back up, Lance is watching him, checking out whether they've gone too far, relaxing as soon as they make eye contact.

They smile at each other, and there's a flash of something in Lance's eyes that JC can't quite interpret.

"But you know," Lance adds, rubbing his knuckles gently across Justin's scalp, still smiling at JC. "You can come watch me swim anytime you like, JC."

There's a pause, and everyone stares at JC for a moment, like they're waiting for something, although he has no idea what.

He shrugs and says, "Cool. Just let me know when you're planning to hit the pool," which apparently is terribly funny because they all start laughing again. These guys. Sometimes they're just too goofy for words.

**********

The rush is starting to build. It's just a whisper in his veins right now, but in a couple of hours it's going to be eating JC from the inside out. He loves this pre-show anticipation, not as much as the full out slam to the brain of actually being on stage and performing in front of thousands of screaming fans, but still as good as any drug he's ever tried.

They've just wrapped up the sound check at Soldier Field, and he's been sharing a celebratory toke with a couple of the engineers, but now he's thinking about grabbing something to eat. If he waits much longer he'll be too excited and the food will sit in his stomach like bricks. Company would be nice, but Chris is chasing Joey through the bleachers with a tube of lipstick he's picked up somewhere, both of them shrieking like maniacs, and if JC does manage to catch them he's only going to end up with hot pink lips.

Lance's duffel bag is lying by the sound booth, but he seems to have disappeared, along with Justin. Probably better not leave the bag here, JC thinks. You never know who might be hanging around, and who knows what Lance might have in there. The last thing they need is to wake up in the morning to headlines about *NSYNC's sex toys for sale on EBay. Not that he really thinks Lance would be silly enough to abandon a bag of sex toys at the sound booth, but you never know. He scoops it up, slings it over his shoulder and takes one last glance around. There they are, walking slowly toward the south end of the stadium. At first he thinks they might be arguing, because Lance looks tense, even from this distance, even from behind, but when Justin drapes an arm around his shoulder he doesn't pull away. Sometimes Lance is like that, all prickly and cross, and then you touch him and he just melts into you. He wonders if Justin's noticed that, too. Remembering the restaurant a couple of days back, Justin sprawled against Lance, his head on Lance's shoulder and Lance's arm wrapped around him, he thinks there's probably quite a lot that Justin's noticed.

It suddenly occurs to him that they're not really kids any more, either of them. He pokes the thought around in his mind for a few seconds and looks back toward the south gate where Lance and Justin are now standing facing one another, Lance with his hands tucked into his pockets, head bent, Justin with his hands on Lance's shoulders. This shouldn't be a surprise, it's not like they haven't both done their share of fooling around, it's not like Justin hasn't been getting freaky with Britney for a while now. It's just, it's always been with other people, and it's always seemed kind of light-hearted and harmless, not to mention temporary, like puppies chewing on slippers, except without the teeth. He doesn't think they're actually together together, not yet, but it's not going to be long, and they're at a point now where things might move beyond fooling around in the blink of an eye. For some reason, this makes him much sadder than it should. And, oh boy, Britney's sure going to be pissed.

Right now, though, food. JC heads inside to the Quiet Room to grab some chow, and maybe try not to think too hard about Justin's hands on Lance's shoulders and why that image should be so disconcerting. Half an hour and a couple of bagels with cream cheese, a bowl of strawberries and a pack of Cheetos later, he's feeling much happier. Blood sugar, he thinks. It's all about the blood sugar.

He curls up on the couch to catch a quick nap. Mmm. Food and sleep. Just perfect. Or it would be perfect if it wasn't so cold in here. He toys with the idea of going to grab a sweatshirt from his dressing room, or calling someone to get the air conditioning turned down, but it seems like way too much effort and he doesn't have a lot of time if he's going to catch a power nap before the guys show up. He pokes Lance's bag, and sure enough, there's something soft and squishy right at the top which turns out, when he unzips the bag, to be a sweater. Now everything's perfect, he thinks, tugging the sweater over his head. It smells clean and comforting, just like Lance, and that's the last thought JC has before he drifts off to sleep.

**********

. . . When he gets to the hotel, there's smoke everywhere, it's pouring out every window, billowing from the open glass doors. He rushes into the lobby, pushing past all these screaming people in robes and pyjamas, and one rather enormous guy in green and purple striped briefs that are almost but not quite hidden by the overlay of his belly. Someone grabs his arm, and he puts up his fists, ready to fight, but it's Chris, face black with soot, eyes watering. He has his arm around Joey who looks like he's unconscious, and he's hauling him toward the door. "The kids," he yells over the wailing voices and the sounds of the sirens drawing closer, "Justin and Lance are still in there. Go!" He thinks about telling Chris that they're not really kids anymore, but when he turns back, Chris is gone, swallowed up by the general exodus.

The staircase is deserted, which seems strange, but he doesn't stop to think about it, just races up the stairs, on and on, all the way up to the fifteenth floor, his lungs heaving, his feet growing heavier and heavier. There's smoke in the corridor, thicker and more acrid than downstairs, but he still hasn't seen any fire. Dropping to the ground, he starts crawling along the floor, trying not to breathe more than he absolutely has to. When he gets to Justin's room, he bangs on the door, then reaches up and tries the knob. It's hot, burning hot, and he watches as blisters break out all over his palm. It hurts like stink, so he blows on it, and the blisters fade to tiny blue stars. Standing, he starts pounding on the door again, calling out Justin's name. As he pounds, the door begins to splinter, then suddenly disappears entirely and JC's in the room. It's so bright in there that for a moment he's blinded, and then he realizes that the walls are on fire.

He sees Justin first, the long, lean reach of his naked body stretched out face down in the centre of the bed, still alive, because he's moving and moaning, and JC thinks he's hurt until he sees the other body lying half beneath Justin's, arms wrapped around Justin's neck. It isn't until he catches a glimpse of blond highlights glinting in the light of the fire that he recognizes Lance's hair. Lance's head. Lance's naked body pushing up toward Justin, Lance's mouth open to catch Justin's moans.

For a second, JC is frozen, caught between terror at the sight of the flames licking their way across the carpet and a sharp, fierce feeling building inside him that he dimly recognizes as anger. He yells at them to get up, to move, but they don't respond, at least not to him. The next minute he's on the bed, kneeling next to them, shaking Justin, shoving him, and when he finally manages to shift him off Lance, he doesn't know whether he wants to drag him to safety or push his hands into the fire so he'll never touch Lance again. He doesn't do either, though, just reaches past Justin to stroke Lance's cheek, and Lance's eyes fly open in surprise, like he can tell the difference in the touch. When he sees JC, he smiles and reaches up for him, scooting over to make room.

JC shakes his head. He's trying to speak, to warn Lance that he's in terrible, terrible danger, but his tongue won't slide itself around the words, and what's wrong with Lance anyway, can't he see that the room is on fire, that the bed is burning? Jumping off the bed, JC runs to the window, yanks open the blazing curtains and slams his fists against the glass, only there isn't any glass, just the cool night breeze like balm to his scorched skin. He breathes it in for a couple of seconds, then runs back to the bed to grab the bottom corners of the mattress and lifts. He expects it to be heavy, but it isn't, it's as light as the breeze still blowing into the room. Justin and Lance are both watching him now, sitting cross legged on the bed, holding hands and looking amused as he carries them on the mattress over to the window. Just before he slides the mattress out into the night, Lance leans forward and takes hold of JC's hand, trying to pull him onto the bed. His grip is so tight that JC is almost dragged out after them, but he manages to twist away at the last minute, and watches the mattress spiral slowly down toward the ground. Turning away from the window, he sees that the fire has almost completely consumed the room. He can see the door and a tiny patch of wallpaper up above where the bed used to be, but other than the small square of carpet on which he's standing, these are the only areas of the room not in flames. Just before the fire reaches his feet . . .

. . . A crashing sound outside the door to the Quiet Room wakes him. JC waits for the door to open, but nothing happens, there's just the muted sound of voices moving away, which is a relief. God, what a dream. It just isn't safe to fall asleep anymore. He holds his hands in front of his face, but his palms look okay. No blisters, no blue spots, just ordinary hands with a bit of cream cheese still lingering on the tips of his fingers.

Sighing, he sits up, his neck a little stiff from something hard and angular in Lance's duffel, his mind still gripped by images of fire and burning beds and mattresses floating in the air like clouds. Or at least that what he wishes his mind was contending with, because fire and conflagration and unmitigated disaster is by far more palatable than the image of Justin tangled up in Lance's limbs, of JC wanting to offer Justin's hands up to the flames.

It really doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure this dream out. It's kind of embarrassing, though, that it takes a message from his subconscious for him to realize that Lance is hot as hell and that JC has it bad. Holy shit. Lance. This is just wild.

It's also horribly, horribly messed up because however much he likes Lance, there's nothing to be done about it. Lance is falling in love with Justin, and JC's just going to have to suck it up and learn to live with it. That's what friendship is. In his dreams he might want to smack Justin upside the head and tell him to stay away from Lance, but out here in the real world, he could never do anything to hurt either one of them, and if this is what they want, he's going to do everything he can to help make it happen for them.

**********

Putting good intentions into action turns out to be way more complicated than JC has anticipated. It's not that he doesn't have plenty of opportunities to try and push Lance and Justin together, because opportunities abound. The problem is that, at first, in his heart of hearts he just doesn't feel like playing Cupid. It takes a great deal of effort at a time when most of his energy is needed for other things, like performing, and being vigilant about keeping Chris' sugar intake to a minimum, and trying not to feel covetous and resentful whenever Justin gets within two feet of Lance.

Another complication he hasn't anticipated is that Lance doesn't seem to want to cooperate. When JC tries to encourage him to talk about Justin by asking leading questions, like "He's sure looking good these days, isn't he?" and "I guess the thing with Britney probably isn't exclusive, wouldn't you say?" Lance doesn't take the bait. He just wrinkles his brow and says, "Uh, oh, sure. I guess" and "I really wouldn't know" and then he'll ask change the subject by asking JC to give him a back rub.

It's the same when JC changes tack and tries to talk to him about relationships in general.

"Hey, Lance," he'll say as they're riding the elevator down to the lobby. "What do you look for in a boyfriend, anyway?"

Lance will look at him out of the corner of his eye and shake his head. "What the hell have you been smoking? Johnny's gonna kill you if you' show up stoned for this interview."

Or they'll be sitting next to each other in the limo, heading back to the hotel or bus from whatever club or party they've been to that night, and Lance will be all flushed and pretty, smelling of schnapps and cigarette smoke, all sexily loose limbed from the alcohol, and JC will want to touch so, so badly, but he won't, not even when Lance slumps against him, the warmth of his body burning into JC's chest and ribs like the heat from the fire in that terrifying dream. A reminder, JC will think, a warning. And he'll heed the warning, struggle to think of some way to push aside his own hunger and bring this subtly back to Justin, to Lance and Justin.

"Be nice if there were someone waiting back at the hotel, wouldn't it? Someone to warm your sheets?"

Lance will giggle and nod a little tipsily, and he'll smile up at JC so endearingly, and JC will pat his head and say, "I don't think Justin's with Brit tonight". Then, just like that, Lance will pull away from him and spend the rest of the ride with his face pressed to the window, ignoring everything JC says.

Lance has always been a little secretive, and who can blame him. Their lives are so closely intertwined, especially on tour; it's not surprising Lance tries to hang onto whatever scraps of privacy he can. JC figures his thing with Justin is one of those scraps, something of his own that Lance keeps tucked away in some quiet corner of his mind, bringing it out when there's no one around to notice. Not even Justin, apparently, because since that day in Chicago, JC hasn't seen them exchange anything more intimate than an occasional slap on the ass. It's not like they've argued or anything, because they're not acting distant or snappish around one another, and yet he's fairly certain the attraction hasn't run its course, because Lance is definitely looking pinched and on edge.

His best guess is that Justin made his move, probably too soon, and that Lance shut him down because he was worried about the group. Or maybe he's worried about Chris, because you never really knew how Chris was going to react to stuff. More likely still, maybe Brit is less than enthusiastic at the prospect of sharing her boyfriend with another guy. Trust Lance to do the gentlemanly thing and bow out.

JC considers backing off and just letting things unfold in their own good time, because that's probably the smart thing to do, and maybe even the right thing to do, and if Lance weren't so obviously unhappy with the status quo, yeah, that's what he'd do. But there are the dreams to consider, the dreams and the fact that Lance is unhappy, and JC hates to see any of the guys unhappy, maybe especially Lance. It's always been that way, ever since Lance first joined the group. He'd seemed to uncertain and vulnerable in those early days, and everyone had been so busy what with endless rehearsing, and Justin with his schoolwork, and Chris and Joey with their crazy jobs and crazy shifts. JC had figured it was up to him to look after the newbie, to help him settle in and make him feel like he belonged. Over the years, he's developed very keen radar where Lance is concerned, can read volumes about Lance's moods from the tilt of his head or the tone of his voice.

And right now, Lance is unhappy. Even if he couldn't figure it out from his Lance radar, JC would be able to read it in the way Lance is always hanging around him lately. It's like a flashback to the beginning, before Lance managed to carve out his own comfortable niche in the group, when he'd gravitate toward JC whenever he needed reassurance, someone to help him feel like he fit. It's happening again. Lance is always plunking himself down next to JC on the couch, staying behind when JC doesn't feel like going clubbing with the others, asking JC to massage his temples, phoning JC regularly from the two-man bus to talk about everything from changes in the song set, to what they missed most when they were on the road, to why Lance had broken up with his first boyfriend.

On the other hand, Lance definitely seems to be avoiding Justin. He doesn't stay behind when Justin doesn't go clubbing. He never takes advantage of the times Justin heads to the Quiet Room after sound check when the rest of them are eating or horsing around. It's obvious that Lance is avoiding Justin, and it seems pretty clear that he's kind of fucked up about the whole situation, and that he's trusting JC to help him figure out what to do about it.

Also obvious is the fact that trying to encourage Lance to confide in him is not the way to go. For whatever reason, Lance just isn't ready to talk openly about this. JC ponders the problem for a couple of days, studying his dreams every morning to see if they might provide a solution, but his dreams -- or at least the ones he remembers -- are stubbornly silent on this topic. One night he dreams that a police car chases them, sirens wailing and tires squealing, and forces their driver to pull over onto the shoulder. The door of the police cruiser flies open and out jumps his mom with a blueberry cheesecake and a couple of tuna fish sandwiches. She kisses him on the cheek, reminds him to floss his teeth and then hops back into the police car and takes off again. The next night he dreams that he's working in a factory, attaching legs to beds with masking tape and a glue stick. No amount of meditation makes those dreams reveal any useful hints.

Eventually, he decides that instead of trying to get Lance to talk, maybe he should be trying to get him to do. Perhaps if JC can manoeuvre the two of them into the right situation, they'll be able to sort out the rest of it on their own. This is a lot more difficult than it should be, though, partly because he really doesn't have a clue what the right situation might be. It's not like he can just lock them in a bedroom and set it on fire like in his dream.

First, JC tries to make sure that they spend some time every day physically close to one another. Proximity is half the battle, he figures. He can personally attest to the strength of character it takes to be close to Lance without putting your hands all over him.

For the next couple of days, any time they all get together, whether it's to watch porn on the three-man bus or to discuss the evening's performance in one of their hotel rooms, JC will wave Lance over to sit beside him, and once Lance is settled and comfy, JC will beckon Justin over, talk to him for a couple of seconds about whatever, and then stretch, stand up and push Justin into the spot he's just vacated, saying, "Keep my place warm for me, will you?" and go pretend to be busy somewhere else.

As a strategy, this fails quite spectacularly since nothing seems to change other than the fact that Justin stops coming when he's called. JC isn't too surprised, when he thinks about it. After all, it's not like Justin and Lance are likely to feel comfortable getting into stuff with Chris and Joey for an audience.

JC hits on the perfect plan the night of their second show Oakland. He's so excited about it that he can barely contain himself, even knowing that, if it works, Lance is going to be further off limits that he is now. What Justin and Lance need is some quality time alone, away from the rest of the guys, away from the craziness of the touring life. All JC has to do is arrange for a mini-vacation for them, and they'll be able to put all their worries, whatever they might be, into perspective.

Back at the hotel, as they're heading to their rooms, he can't resist giving Lance a little teaser.

"So, hey, Lance."

"Yeah?" Lance looks back over his shoulder, key card already in the slot.

"Gets a little lonely sometimes, doesn't it?"

"Tell me about it."

"I always figure it'd be so much easier if we were involved with someone else in the group, you know?"

Lance turns to face JC, smiling. "It kinda would, wouldn't it? So, maybe--"

JC tosses him a wink, says, "We'll just have to see what we can do about that," and goes into his room, leaving Lance standing in the hallway with his mouth open.

A few days later they're in Miami for three days of R and R. With a few quick phone calls, JC has booked a suite at the Ritz-Carlton and arranged for an elegant dinner to be served in the private dining room. All that's left is to get Justin and Lance there without them suspecting anything, and that turns out to be amazingly simple, too. When he tells Justin that he has a surprise planned for Lance and he needs Justin's help to make it work, Justin agrees and isn't even too put out when JC won't tell him what the surprise is. Everyone knows that Justin tells Chris everything, so he's probably getting used to being left in the dark. Lance is easy, because Lance is always willing to spend time with JC these days. All he has to do is ask if Lance wants to spend the night at the Ritz-Carlton, and Lance is all over it like a dirty shirt. He sends Lance off in a limo, telling him he's got a few errands to run before he joins him, and then calls the hotel and asks them to send his regrets in a couple of hours when Lance and Justin have had a chance to sort things out.

Sheer genius, he congratulates himself, trying to ignore the sudden rush of sadness.

A few hours later, when he's out with Chris and Joey, trying to hit every strip club in Miami in one night, his phone rings. Checking the call display, he excuses himself and heads for the bathroom where he might actually have a chance of hearing Lance thank him.

"Hey, cat. How's it going?"

There's silence on the other end, long enough that JC wonders if they've been cut off or if the noise of the club has drowned out Lance's response.

"Dude? You there?"

Lance is definitely there, JC can hear him breathing. "Lance?"

"You. You complete fucking bastard." Lance's voice is rough, like he's got a sore throat, and he's angrier than JC has ever heard him. Ever. "I don't know what your deal is, JC, but from now on, just stay the fuck away from me. Unless it's business, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to look at you, I don't want to hear your voice. You got that?"

"Lance? What the hell--"

"Fuck off." And then Lance hangs up.

JC stares at his phone, and stares at it some more. He tries to dial Lance, but either Lance is on another call or he's not answering, so he tries Justin's cell.

"What the hell happened to you, dude?" Justin asks as soon as he picks up. "Lance was so mad it was scary. I thought he was going to trash the place."

"Didn't you guys talk?" For heaven's sake, what was wrong with Justin. He'd had ample opportunity to fix things up with Lance, did he need a fucking roadmap?"

"Talk about what? Lance ranted for a good half hour about what an asshole moron you are and how he's never going to speak to you again as long as he lives unless it's to tell you want an asshole moron you are but probably not even then because you're just a waste of breath. What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything. And neither, apparently, did you. Whatever. I give up. Sort out your own shit, Justin."

It feels very therapeutic to be the one hanging up.

Lance is as good as his word. For the next few days, when they're not performing or doing meet and greets or media appearances, he doesn't talk to JC, or make eye contact with him or do anything to let JC know that he's even registered his presence. For the life of him, he can't figure out what he's done wrong.

*************

JC is just sliding into sleep when his bed starts shaking and his blankets are dragged down to his ankles.

"Whoa! What the fuck! Oh, Chris. Hey. Go away, okay?"

He reaches for the blankets, but in one smooth motion Chris has him off the bed and halfway down the bus before he even realizes he's moving.

"Let's go, dude. We need to talk."

"Oh. Okay. But, I'm a bit, um, occupied right now, though." JC gestures back toward his bunk and looks wistfully at the spill of blankets on the floor beside it. "Tomorrow morning? Breakfast, maybe? Come on, man, I'm tired."

"Just get your ass out here. You can get your beauty sleep when we've finished kicking your ass."

Joey and Justin are waiting on the couch, and Chris pushes him down to sit between them. They all look serious, not to mention seriously grumpy, and he wonders if maybe that beer he had earlier this evening was the last one or something.

"Hey, Joe. Aren't you on the wrong bus? I mean, it's great that you're here, of course, or it would be if I were actually awake enough to appreciate it. Did Lance need an evening to himself?" He glares at Justin when he says this, because, really, JC's been doing all his work for him for the past few days, not that it's actually seemed to do much good, but still. Justin is being pretty damned lackadaisical about getting into Lance's pants, no wonder Lance is so fucking uptight and cranky and unreasonable.

"Um, no, not exactly." Joey has that uneasy air about him he always has when something unpleasant is about to happen. It's not likely to be the beer if Joey's involved. He and Lance must have plenty of beer on their own bus, and even if they don't, they can't really expect JC to save the last beer on this bus for them.

Justin's looking a bit tense, too, chewing at one of his fingernails and watching Chris root around in the fridge. Neither of them seems inclined to start this party until Chris has joined them.

"I'm kind of cold," JC says grumpily. It's true, too, his stomach and chest are covered in tiny little goose bumps, and he feels even colder looking at them. "I suppose it would be too much to ask to be allowed to go put some clothes on."

"Suck it up, Chasez," Chris says, standing up and tossing him a beer. He hands one each to Justin and Joey and then parks himself cross-legged on a chair directly in front of JC. "You've got more important things to worry about than freezing your nuts off, believe me."

Fortunately, Joey isn't as much of an asshole as Chris. He hands JC his jacket and even helps him slip it on. Joey's cool that way.

"Okay, you whiney bastard. If you're all nice and cozy now, maybe you're ready to explain to us just what the fuck you think you're playing at with Lance."

"Lance?" JC asks stupidly. This is about Lance? Okay, he realizes the guys must have noticed something is wrong, because Lance is actually being pretty much a total bitch to him these days and he doesn't seem to care who's around to see it, but in that case, why aren't they dragging Lance out of bed in the middle of the night to hold himself to account? There's something very wrong with this picture. "What do you mean? I'm not playing at anything. He's not talking to me and I have no idea why because, like I said, he's not talking to me. So if that's all there is, I'm just going to--"

Chris shoves him back down, and Justin puts an arm around his shoulder to hold him in place.

"C'mon, C," Justin says in his let's-all-be-reasonable voice, which makes JC want to stamp his feet and behave like a two-year old. "We just want you to talk to us, tell us why you're being so, um. So mean to Lance."

"Who? Me? I'm not mean! I've never been mean to Lance! I never would be."

"Well, it sounds to me like you're being a total shit," Chris says, right in his face, and whoa, Chris looks really angry.

"Dude, I don't know what on earth would make you think that. Lance is the one who suddenly stopped talking to me. If anyone's being a shit, it's Lance. And, you know," he glares at Justin, "if Justin would just be a tiny bit more assertive, none of this would have happened."

"What?" Justin screeches. "You're not gonna make this my fault, yo. I didn't do a damned thing."

"My point exactly. All he needed was a little encouragement, J, and you could have had him eating out of the palm of your hand."

"Um. What? Why the fuck would I want Lance eating out of the palm of my hand? That's just creepy."

"Don't be coy, dude. I saw you guys, I saw the way you touched him."

"Where? When did you see me touch him?"

"Soldier Field," JC says pointedly. "Does that ring any bells?"

This is insane," he says to Chris. "Brit would have my fuckin' balls!" He turns back to JC. "I'm not even gay, you moron. You know I'm not gay, why would you even think this?"

"People change, Justin. And I saw you. And then I had this dream--. Ow!" he yells as Chris whaps him on the side of the head.

"You flaming idiot! God, nobody's this stupid. Lance doesn't like Justin. Lance has never liked Justin. He likes you, you great plank!"

"But, but--"

"But nothing, crap-for-brains. Lance is nuts about you."

Joey pats his leg and nods. "Chris is right, C, he really is. He has been for a long time. Well, until the other day. Now he can't even say your name without spitting. What on earth did you do to piss him off this badly? I've never seen him like this."

All of a sudden, some of the strange events of the last couple of weeks are starting to make some kind of sense. JC suspects that it's highly possible that he's been very, very stupid indeed.

"I just. Are you guys sure about this? I mean, like a hundred percent sure?"

"Oh, yeah," Joey says. "I share a bus with the guy and he's been brooding about this for months. Believe me, I'm sure. We all are because he sure as hell didn't try to hide it."

"Oh, hey!" Justin pokes JC in the arm to get his attention. "Soldier Field. Chicago, right? That's what Lance and I were talking about. You. I was telling him he should just come right out and ask you to get dirty with him, but he was all, no, you weren't interested because he'd been dropping all these hints and you kept tactfully ignoring them. So I said, dude, that doesn't sound like JC, and hey, don't underestimate his capacity to completely overlook the obvious. Man, I wish I'd thought to bet a couple of thousand bucks on this. I'd totally be collecting tomorrow."

"Ow!" JC yelps again when Chris reaches over and tugs on one of his curls.

"So what the fuck, dude? A few days ago Lance was all excited, saying things were starting to look up. He said you were finally showing an interest, that you wanted to spend time with him, and talk to him about relationships and stuff. And then suddenly you started to doing all this nasty shit, flirting with him and then walking away, coming on to him and then implying you liked Justin better. And now, whatever you've done, he won't even talk about you, he's so hurt, and I swear to god, if you're fucking with him I'm going to kick your ass six ways from Sunday."

Oh, god. Poor Lance. JC feels terrible. Except. No. Actually, he doesn't. Actually, he feels pretty damned spectacularly terrific. Lance doesn't like Justin. Lance likes him. This is like the coolest thing in the whole world. He starts grinning like an idiot and he almost laughs out loud in relief, but Chris and Joey and Justin look like they might start pounding on him any second, so apparently they're not quite as thrilled at this turn of events as he is.

"Oh, no, no, guys," he says, waving his hands at them in what he hopes is a placating way. "It's okay, it's really okay. I can explain this. And I can fix it, too!"

**********

The problem is it's kind of hard to fix anything when Lance won't even speak to him. How's JC supposed to explain that it's all a silly misunderstanding when from Miami, to San Antonio, to Birmingham, Lance snubs his overtures at every turn. He's forgotten how stubborn Lance can be.

Not only will Lance not talk to him, he won't listen to him, either. When JC opens his mouth, Lance will plug in his Discman or start talking to Joey or just leave the room. When JC phones, he never picks up, and JC doesn't know what happens to all the messages he leaves, but he suspects Lance deletes them unheard. Lance won't even be alone in the same room as JC, so it's not like he can just sit on him and force him to listen.

JC's pretty ticked with his subconscious over this whole mess. It's just not cool at all when your own brain pulls this kind of crap on you. Gives a new meaning to the saying 'You're your own worst enemy'.

The others won't help, partly because they think he deserves every second of this for being such an imbecile, but mostly because they're really enjoying watching him make an idiot out of himself trying to get Lance to pay attention to him. Even Joey refuses to help.

"Sorry, man. Nothing I can do. He doesn't want to talk about you and last time I tried he threw my favourite Superman t-shirt out the bus window. It almost got run over by a semi! I'm not taking that kind of chance again, not even for you. Just be patient. He'll come around."

Easy for Joey to say. It's impossible to be patient. He doesn't want to be patient. He wants to spin Lance around when he turns his cold shoulder on JC and yell, "I love you, you idiot!" but apart from the fact that it would be cheesy beyond words, Lance would probably think he was mocking him and that would undo all the progress he doesn't actually seem to be making.

Things come to a head one morning in Louisville. They're having a breakfast meeting in the hotel suite, just the five of them, and even though it's way earlier than he likes to get up, JC really doesn't mind because, these days, this is pretty much the only way he gets to hear Lance's voice.

They're just wrapping up a discussion about the previous night's show and a couple of changes Justin wants to make for the Atlanta show in a couple of days, when JC decides enough is enough.

"I had this dream last night," he says. Joey, Justin and Chris start to snicker, but they shut up pretty quickly when he adds, "It was about you, Lance."

Lance ignores him, turning to Justin and asking him if Brit's going to at any of the upcoming shows because he has something he wants to give her.

"It was really kind of cool," JC continues, keeping his eyes on Lance as Lance resolutely looks anywhere else, pretending not to hear. "I was driving to Alaska for some reason--"

"Because the Walmart in Orlando was out of blubber, maybe?" Chris asks helpfully.

"--only somehow I ended up taking a wrong turn when I hit Canada and I got lost somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. So, anyway, I was driving around looking some kind of sign that would tell me how to get to Alaska --"

"One with a little igloo on it, you mean?"

"Chris, do you mind? Can you let a person finish?"

"Dude, this is like the most boring dream ever. If you don't get to Alaska within the next twenty seconds, I'm gonna have to beat you senseless."

"Well, see, that's the thing. I never did make it to Alaska. Not in this dream, anyway. I was driving up and down all these mountain roads, and then I was on a dirt road, and then suddenly there was no road at all and I was in the middle of what looked like a logging camp. I got out of the car to ask for directions, but there was nobody around, or at least nobody I could see."

"Ooh," Justin says. "A ghost camp. Was this, like, a Revenge of the Tree Spirits kind of dream?" He and Chris start waving their arms about and making high-pitched keening sounds in what JC assumes is supposed to be a tree spirit-ish way, and now Lance only has Joey to focus on if he's going to maintain his pretence of not paying any attention to what JC's talking about.

"Anyway, I yelled a few times, but nobody came out, so I figured they were all off--"

"Killing our brethren!" Chris shouted.

"--logging and stuff. It occurred to me that I might be able to find a map in one of the buildings, though, so I decided to go check. I went into the closest building first, because it looked like the biggest, but there was just a long row of cots and footlockers, kind of like an army barracks. I felt kind of funny going through people's personal shit though, so I left and went to one of the smaller buildings."

"Ho frickin' hum, Chasez. Are you trying to bore me straight to death, here?" Chris throws a piece of toast at him, but JC just ignores him. Lance isn't the only one who can play that game.

"This was a bunkhouse, too, but there was only one bed. A giant four-poster bed that took up almost the entire room. I was just about to leave when I realized that there was someone in the bed."

Chris and Justin perk up at this, and Joey glances over at him and then guiltily returns his attention to Lance. If Lance is listening, he's not giving anything away.

"I called out 'Excuse me,' but the person in the bed didn't say anything, just moved a little under the covers. So, I went a little closer, and then a little closer still until I was right next to the bed, but the quilt was pulled way up high and all I could see was the shape of a body under the covers. I said, 'Excuse me!' again, but there was still no answer. Finally, I lifted the corner of the quilt, slowly, slowly, because you never know in dreams what you're going to find hiding under things. And that's where you came into the dream, Lance."

Lance has shoved his chair back, like he's getting ready to bolt, but right now he's studying his fingernails like he's considering whether or not he needs to be booking a manicure in the near future.

"When I lifted the quilt, I recognized your hair, and then your eyes, and then I could see your whole face. You were pretending to be asleep, but I could tell you were awake, because you had that little furrow you get on your forehead when you're concentrating on something."

JC smiles as the furrow in Lance's forehead suddenly smooths out and Lance struggles to find a suitable expression.

"I pulled the quilt down a little further, and then a little further still, because, wow. You weren't wearing anything, Lance. You were completely naked."

A flush spreads slowly up Lance's throat and over his cheeks. Joey, Justin and Chris are very quiet now, their eyes riveted on JC like he's telling them the best bedtime story ever.

"You looked so beautiful lying there, I couldn't resist reaching out and touching you, running my hand along your ribs, over your hip, and your skin was smooth and hot, and you didn't seem to mind a bit. When I moved my hand away, your body moved after it, and when I touched you again, stroking down your back, you moaned and opened your eyes."

"Oh, fuck," Justin says to Chris. "Should we be here? Shouldn't we, like, go?"

Chris ignores him. Everyone ignores him, and JC goes on. "I climbed onto the bed beside you, and you opened your eyes, and, Lance, they were that same shade of green your eyes get when you're at the beach and they catch the light of the sun and the water."

Lance is looking at him now, his face still pink, expression unreadable.

"I knelt beside you, and I wanted you so bad I could feel it in every cell of my body. I started with your mouth, because I needed to know what you tasted like, so I licked your lips and you let me in, and I fucked your mouth with my tongue until you--"

"Oh, man," Chris mutters. Justin's looking horrified, like he might actually need therapy if JC says one more word, but Joey's just smiling and nodding and watching Lance who's now pretty much red as a fire engine. "Dude, I think--"

"Until you couldn't stand it any more, and then I unbuttoned my pants, and your mouth was all wet and bruised and ready, and--"

"Oh god!" Lance leaps out of his chair, hands on his cheeks like he might be able to push the heat back inside. "Oh, jesus. Enough. Enough."

He heads for the door and stops, his hand on the knob, his head slightly bent. Somewhere in the background, JC can hear Justin whispering urgently to Chris about how if he wanted to watch porn he'd buy a god damned DVD and he vaguely notices Joey getting hesitantly to his feet like he's maybe thinking of going after Lance, but the only thing in the world he cares about right at this moment is just about to leave this room and he has no idea how to stop him.

And then Lance straightens up, pulls open the door and spins around to face JC. "Well? Are you coming or not? Asshole." He tries to look angry, but JC catches the brilliant smile on his face as Lance turns back to the door.

JC doesn't need to be asked twice. He high fives Joey, pats Justin on the head and smiles at Chris. "See? Don't be trying to tell me that dreams don't mean anything," he says as he follows Lance out of the room.