"…because sleeping with three girls, hello?  That's four people altogether, Bass, which is an orgy, and an orgy is kinkier than a threesome!" Chris' voice gets louder and higher with each shake of Lance's head.  They've been locked into an argument for nearly fifteen minutes about what is kinkier--sleeping with three girls or with a girl and a guy.  JC rolls his eyes at Joey over the way they debate this issue with complete seriousness.

Everything's always a competition with them, but it's friendly, different from the ways that they compete with other people.  They've been together for so long that they've had years worth of time to kill, and games have always filled those empty spaces.

"But a guy having sex with girls, that's normal, Chris.  Sleeping with a member of the same sex automatically trumps anything with the opposite sex, no matter how many of them there are, because it's gay."

"What?" Chris hollers, and sits up, outraged.  "Trumps?  Did I miss these rules in the Sexual Almanac or something?" 

"Common knowledge," Lance says smugly, and takes a sip of his martini.  JC thinks that he'd be more careful with that drink if he were Lance right now, because with Chris a simple debate can become a fight to the death, especially with Lance, who infuriates Chris with his unruffled demeanor. 

"Six boobs are kinkier than two," Chris insists, but he's losing steam.  "You arrogant bastard. Okay, Joey next."

Joey takes a long drink of his beer, thinking about it.  JC thinks it's weird to have to think for so long, but he supposes that Joey must've done a lot of kinky stuff.  Sure enough, Joey scratches his chin thoughtfully and says, "There was this girl in Germany.  She had these…beads, and damn…" he shakes his head and takes another drink.  "That's all I'm gonna say." 

Lance is already nodding his approval, but Justin is yelling, "Thank God for that, Joe!  I swear if I hafta hear that story one more time, I'm gonna be sick." 

"Shut up, junior." Chris slaps at Justin's head.  "You're just jealous because Lance and Joey always win.  You got anything?" 

"No," Justin says, surly because he hates losing, even if it's only a dumb game with his mostly drunk friends.  "Jayce's turn."

"Um," JC says, and stretches out his legs.  "Well, I…"

"C'mon, Jayce," Joey urges, and JC can feel himself blushing even though he's with his best friends and should be over feeling self-conscious. 

"It's something good!" Chris is bouncing giddily in his seat, taunting Justin and prodding him with his foot.  "Take notes, J." 

"No, I…" JC protests, but they're all looking at him expectantly and his blood is running numbingly through his veins, infusing his entire body with a pleasant buzz.  He's drunk, and can't keep a secret.   "I.  Bobbie.  Used to put makeup on me.  And sometimes, you know.  Her clothes," he finishes, and waits. 

"Whoa," Joey says, his eyebrows high with surprise.  Lance looks down at his hands with an unreadable smirk and when Justin groans, Joey says, "Whoa," again, only with laughter in his voice.  

"Hello, vain much?" Justin demands.  "Like you're not pretty enough already, Jayce," he says, and JC blinks, confused. 

"Um, no, it wasn't like that.  It was…" 

"We get it," Chris interrupts, and reaches for another beer.  "She'd dress you up like a girl and then you'd fuck, right?" 

"Well-"  No, JC thinks.  That wasn't how it was at all.  In Chris' words it sounds empty and cartoonish--not sensual and exciting, the way it had actually been. 

"Did you do it all the time?"

"Not every time, but…a lot.  I liked it," JC confesses, because no one seems to be offended and Joey even looks a little impressed. 

"Okay, that definitely beats mine," Joey insists.  No one argues, especially not Chris, who is staring darkly into his drink and thinking about the way JC's hair curls down onto the smooth line of his neck. 

***

"So, was it a lesbian fantasy thing?"  Chris demands as soon as JC picks up the phone.  Chris has been avoiding him for a week.

"No.  Chris, why-" 

"Was she, like, pretending to be a guy?" 

"No. God."  JC shakes his head, tries to wake up because he'd been crashed out on his couch.  The clock informs him that it's two in the morning. 

"What was it, then?"

"Huh?"  He rubs his eyes and tries to figure out where this is coming from, but then again, Chris has always been particularly nosey. 

"What got you off on it?" 

"Why do you want to-" he stops, sighs, because there's no discouraging Chris and the best way to get him to go away is to give him what he wants.  "Well," he says, and flops on his back into the warm, plush cushions.  His eyes are heavy with sleep, and they sag shut.  "I guess…the way she acted when I was done up, she'd touch me really soft, and kiss my neck and shoulders and then later, she'd just…" 

Silence.  Normally, Chris leaps ahead to fill in any blanks, but now he's waiting on the other end of the line and JC is shifting on the couch, aching with remembrance.  He misses it, wants to feel that why again so much, to just arch up into worshiping hands.  It's been such a long time. 

"…you know," he finished.  "I mean, like, rough.  It was just different.  Nice.  Sexy." 

"I'll bet you look amazing like that," Chris breathes, and JC's eyes snap open. 

"Huh?" 

The quiet whuff of a chuckle comes over the line.  "I'd love to see you like that, C."  

Chris would love to see him like that?  JC hasn't ever done it, dressed up like that outside of a sexual context, and isn't even sure that he can taste the sweet slide of lipstick on his lips anymore without getting a hard-on. 

"Um, yeah."  He isn't sure what to say, but Chris saves him the trouble by ending the conversation with a satisfied,

"Night, C." 

**

JC hasn't ever been particularly close to Chris.  Most people don't know this.   It isn't as big a deal as some people might think; after all, there are five of them and it's easy to just be in the group together; that's enough.  JC isn't even all that surprised at the lack of connection.  As far back as JC can remember, he's avoided guys like Chris because he always rubs them the wrong way, pisses them off, makes them want to kick his ass. 

Chris is really no exception.

He learned a long time ago not to ever look to Chris for affirmation, encouragement or anything else when he's feeling insecure because admitting weakness is what people like Chris hate most.  During interviews and public appearances, Chris always has an eye on JC, ready to jump on it as soon as JC says something incoherent or uncool, but it's fine, really.  Chris is never cruel, and JC is close to the other three guys. 

But despite their personal history--or lack thereof--Chris has been suddenly and suspiciously attentive the past week.  Whenever JC turns around, it seems that Chris is there, giving him an appraising eye.  He doesn't know what to say because he doesn't know what it means and besides, experience tells him that confronting Chris never goes the way he intends it to.  Talking to Chris sometimes means going around in convoluted circles until everything is turned around in a manner that leaves JC looking like a fool and Chris smirking in a knowing and infuriating manner. 

So, yes, Chris loves to laugh at him, but lately Chris isn't laughing.

 Joey notices it first.  "Dude," he says, pulling JC aside after they'd finished a radio interview.  "You've got a new best friend."

JC nods, though he won't go so far as to say that.  Chris has certainly been solicitous, though, making a big show of bringing JC a cup of water, telling everyone that JC above everyone else needed to take care of his voice.  Justin got pissed off when Chris said on-air, with a little grin in JC's direction, that JC could out-sing all of them any day.  He doesn't know what to make of it. 

"He's been like this for a while," he admits to Joey.  "I'm…he made me go golfing with him last week.  Twice.  And he hardly made fun of me at all." 

"Weird," Joey agrees, shaking his head.  "He's, like, obsessed with you.  But you know Chris…he'll be on to something else in like five minutes." 

"Yeah," JC says, and stares off into the parking lot where Justin is chasing Chris around the parked cars, hollering dangerously and demanding that he recant his earlier statement.

***

Joey ends up being right.  For a couple weeks, Chris is lurking behind every corner, smiling and joking and actually listening to JC for a change.  At first it makes JC edgy, but just when he starts to relax into the new dynamic and expects Chris to lean up against him and rest his hand on the back of JC's neck, the attention wanes. 

"Where's Chris?" Justin asks one night, flopping down on the hotel bed next to JC.  It's a good question, and JC had been wondering the same thing.

"I dunno.  Out, maybe." 

"Oh, man," Justin whines.  "He left without me?  I thought he'd be here driving you nuts." 

"Nope," JC says, and pretends to watch tv. 

Things are back to normal. 

At first he tells himself that he's relieved, but the truth is he feels an unexpected twist of rejection in his belly.  The new, attentive way that Chris had begun listening to him had made him feel…smart.  Cool, interesting, and all the other things that had kept he and Chris from being close in the first place. 

JC is not confrontational by nature, though, and they're busy promoting the new album, so he contents himself with watching Chris give the gift of his scattered attention to Joey, Justin, Lance, a vast array of caterers, photographers, and anyone else they happened to encounter.  It had been nice while it lasted, but it's over now…except…JC knows what triggered Chris' sudden, intense interest. 

He tries not to think about it too much, tries to pretend he doesn't miss all of the attention, but JC prides himself on total self-awareness, so pretending isn't very effective. 

***

He never stops thinking about it, really, so when October rolls around and Chris starts talking about the spectacular gala that will be his Halloween party, JC's thoughts have already latched onto the beginnings of an idea that grows and evolves until JC finds himself standing naked in his bedroom just before sunset, staring at the pile of items he's dumped onto his bed.

 It's Halloween.

He rummages through the pile until he pulls out what he's looking for; a peach, satiny bra with a hook that takes nearly ten minutes to latch behind him.  Bobbie was always so much better at this but she's not here now, so he does the next best thing and calls Lance, who can look at any situation in an objective way. 

When Lance arrives, he claps his hand over his eyes and his shout sounds so genuinely appalled that JC pouts until Lance assures him that no, he was just surprised and JC looks great, really fabulous, only maybe he could just put on some underwear?  Or…panties, as it so happens. 

He finds the panties on his bed and steps into the leg holes, pulling the slinky material up and over his hips.  There are a few problematic moments during which the elastic seems hopelessly twisted, but it all works out in the end. 

 Lance watches, amused, with an arched brow.  "Ookay," he says, and rocks back on his heels, arms crossed against his chest.    "And you needed my help for what?" 

"It's for the party," JC explains.  "My costume.  I can't make it look good on my own."  He tugs self-consciously at the bra, shifts his slender frame into a consciously feminine position, smiles coyly. 

"Oh, Jesus," Lance breathes, rolling his eyes.  "You seem to be doing just fine." 

"It's the hair and makeup where I go wrong," he says, and wiggles into a blue spaghetti-strap tank top.  He studies his reflection, then his profile, in the mirror.  "Do you think I need padding?" 

"Um…"  Lance frowns at his chest.  "Well, right now, you look like a nice girl.  A really flat girl, but a nice one.  If you add padding, you'll look kinda…" 

"Yeah, that's what I thought," JC agrees.  "Sleazy." He pivots in front of the mirror, smiles brightly at himself, at the nice girl.  "Can you do my hair now?" 

"This is a weird costume," Lance says when he's carefully dusting JC's face with translucent powder.  "Even for you."  He looks at the silky knee-length skirt and strappy sandals that JC had put on a few minutes ago.  "I mean, it's not like when Joey dressed up like a girl, that was camp.  You're all pretty, and…"

When JC smiles, his lips are pink and shiny with lip gloss.  It's demurely dangerous, and Lance can't put his fier on what makes it so.  "Be careful," he warns, and touches his finger lightly to the tip of JC's nose, making JC's face crinkle up in a recognizably genuine grin. 

"I will," he promises, but inside his chest his heart flutters with anticipation.  He's never gone to so much trouble for an unknown result.  There are so many ways this could turn out, but he knows that the most likely scenario will be Chris seeing him, admiring him, and then going about his night like usual.  An optimistic part of him imagines more, though, imagines a Chris that can't keep his eyes off JC, a Chris that whispers things like "I'd love to see you like that," over the phone.  He's not even sure what to do with that Chris, though, so he takes a great breath and takes advantage of having a best friend who knows about these things. 

"Lance," he says, and slides one smooth leg against the other.  He'd never done this part before, shaved, but in the past he'd never had to try this hard.  "How do you…"  He stands up and paces clumsily around his bed while he thinks, tracing compulsive lines over his skirt.  "How do you get a guy to…" 

"Oh God,"  Lance blurts.  "JC." 

"No, no no it's not.  I'm not." 

It's too late now, though.  Lance loves gossip too much to let it go. "What are you doing?"  he asks.  He walks around the bed and takes JC's wrists, circles them with his fingers. 

"Nothing.  I just…" 

"This is for a guy?"  Lance smirked.  "Because, wow.  This so isn't the way, Jayce."

"It is."  JC tries to remember not to rub his eyes, but they itch, so he blinks slowly until it abates.  It's embarrassing, but he really wants Lance's advice so he plows forward.  "My, uh, guy…this is what he.  At least, I think it's what he likes.  Or…hope.  I hope."

"Okay.  So, what, you wanna know how to get him to put the moves on you?  If he's into what you say he is, just showing up sounds like plan enough to me." 

Showing up.  JC's stomach pulls into a hard knot at just the thought.  "You have to come with me," he pleads.  "You brought your costume, right?" 

Lance laughs and drops JC's hands. "As if I'd miss this." 

***

He should have been a vampire like Lance, who had offered twice on the way to the party, but JC had insisted that no, this was his costume and this was what he would wear.  Now, walking up the path to Chris' kitchen door, JC tugs at the hem of his skirt and clings to Lance's cape, feeling naked and ridiculous.  He's all nerves, but Lance seems to find it funny. 

"Look, you don't have to do anything," he tells JC, wriggling free and smoothing his costume.  "Have fun, let him see you like this, and go from there." 

It sounds like a good idea so JC nods, releases Lance and scans the crowd.  When he catches sight of a curvy, scantily-clad belly dancer, his hand goes to his own low neckline and the second thoughts threaten to send him out the back door, but that's when he hears a laughing, "Bass, wait up!" and of course Lance obeys, because it's Chris and he doesn't know that they're supposed to be in the corner where they can simultaneously hide from and spy on Chris. 

"Where's your costume?" JC blurts and immediately regrets it when it makes Chris, who hadn't noticed JC before, turn to JC and after only a small moment of pause, slowly say,

"Who's your friend, Lance?"

He leers obviously, something he would never do to an actual woman, and JC's cheeks instantly flare with heated indignation. 

"Oh, yeah, this is my date," Lance says, and slings an arm over JC's shoulders.  When JC shrugs him away and stalks off, he manages a sad expression.  "She was too good for me, anyway," he says mournfully, Chris nods in agreement, staring at the naked expanse of JC's shoulders as he disappears into the crowd. 

***

"Can I join you, or would you rather pout in peace?" 

JC bites at the rim of his glass, letting his teeth scrape lightly at the edge and refusing to turn toward Chris.   Pouting had been the plan, but now with Chris here and goose bumps raising all across his arms, he finds himself reconsidering, lips curving upwards, pressed against cool glass.  

The touch that trails down his bare shoulders is as soft as he had once described to Chris.  It's perfect, just the way Bobbie had always so carefully touched him. 

When he was like this.

Chris remembers. 

Of course he remembers.  The night JC he'd called JC and asked him about this was burned into his memory, forever to be brought out every time he happened to notice the gorgeous, feminine sweep of JC's eyelashes, the delicate bend of his wrist. 

Chris' fingers linger at the hem of the skirt.  "Can I do this?" he whispers against a mouthful of sweet-smelling curls, and chuckles when JC doesn't reply.  JC plays the part so well; the perfect, reserved lady, but all Chris has to do is stroke his fingers along the inside of a thigh and his legs are already spreading, head tipping back for kisses along the line of his throat. 

"Beautiful," Chris whispers into his hair, and JC uses an unsteady hand to place his glass on the edge of the balcony.  "This is just the first part, right baby?  I can't wait till what comes next." 

The way JC leans into him and shudders expectantly is his answer. 

"You're so pretty like this," Chris whispers again.  He keeps his hands outside the skirt and top as he strokes slowly over hips, stomach, chest, because that's what JC had said he likes now.  Slow, easy, like he'd treat a skittish virgin, and he won't remind himself until later that JC's no virgin. 

For now, JC melts into Chris and kisses back with a leisurely slide of tongue.  The party is still going on inside and they can both hear it, but JC chose this balcony for a reason.  It's adjacent to Chris' bedroom, and everything that JC's imagined about tonight happens in Chris' bedroom. 

He tries to keep things light, the way JC had said he likes it at first, but things seem to progress on their own, helped along by JC's breathy little moans and the subtle press of his hips.  Chris gets him inside and urges him onto the bed, where he waits, hardly breathing, as Chris stands beside the bed and unfastens his belt.  It drops to the floor with a light clanging sound, and Chris peels off the rest of his clothes, crawls naked onto the bed. 

Again, he's struck by JC's prettiness, but he won't say it now.  That time is over, and now it's time for him to pin JC to the mattress with his body and slide his hand unapologetically up and under the flimsy skirt.  When JC gasps and arches his back off the bed, Chris swipes his tongue up along the bare expanse of skin in the center of his chest.  He stops at the edge of the tank top, but lets his tongue slide underneath just far enough to touch the wet tip to a nipple.  JC moans in response, shudders and clings to Chris, his eyes wide.  It's obvious he's overwhelmed; he can probably feel Chris' cock nudging against his panties, and when Chris reaches down to get rid of them it's a familiar enough feeling, the wet, slippery feel of satin under his fingers. 

Even though he's spreading his legs, reaching for Chris, begging for more, Chris can feel the way JC's shaking and he raises up onto one elbow.  "We can stop," he says, as though his slick fingers aren't positioned deep inside JC, clenched tightly in the inferno where his cock wants to go more than anything. 

"No, I want, please," JC insists.  "Just, you don't have to be so…careful," he murmurs, then groans when Chris pulls his fingers out and slaps JC's ass in answer. 

"Got it," he says.  When he sees JC scramble to turn onto his stomach, he's the one groaning, because it's Halloween tonight but it feels like it's Christmas here, and Chris doesn't know how he never knew JC did this, but he knows now and he's gonna make the most of it. 

***

JC wakes a few hours later, and after a few seconds of panicked regret, he smiles shyly at Chris, allowing himself to be tugged back into the covers for a few reassuring kisses.  When he gets up, he eyes the wreckage of his clothing and strips off the tiny tank top. 

"Can I borrow something?" he asks, and Chris watches from the bed.  He doesn't ever think he'll walk again and doesn't know how JC is managing.  He's obviously resilient as well as flexible, and Chris suddenly wants to smother himself with a pillow for thinking that thought. 

"Yeah.  Whatever you want." 

JC turns on a light in order to hunt some clothes that will fit, and he dresses quickly, keeping his head down.  When he's finished, he's in a pair of Chris' ancient jeans that haven't fit him in years and a baggy sweatshirt with a stain on the shoulder.  He disappears into the bathroom and emerges with a damp face, his makeup gone.  Chris can't take his eyes off him, because even like this, slinking around all wrecked and ashamed, JC is the prettiest thing he's ever seen. 

"I guess I'm gonna…"  When JC motions toward the door, the long sleeve slips over his hand and he pushes it back self-consciously.  He's nothing like the sleek, polished creature that had arrived at the party a few hours ago but even though his hair is mussed, his cheeks bright with exertion, Chris crosses the room and pushes back the damp curls. 

JC doesn't meet his eyes but that's all right, Chris leans in and whispers, "Like this, too.  I like you like this, too, Jayce."

END