Blinders
by Tink

When Chris finds out Justin is following Lance around and trying to sit next to him in interviews and wants to share busses with him, Chris heads that right off at the pass.

"Don’t be stupid, Justin. Have your little baby crush on Lance or whatever, but don’t be so fucking stupid." This is said while gazing intently at the television, because Chris thinks he doesn’t really give a shit whether or not Justin is crushing on Lance.

When Chris finds out Justin has attached himself to JC and is constantly pestering him to write music together and go clubbing together and is always bringing him guava juice, Chris heads that off at the pass too.

"JC doesn’t like you, Jup. He’s just nice to you because, well ... it’s JC, man. He doesn’t know how to be any other way. Pass me the fucking salt." And he takes a big bite of his sandwich and chews it carefully, because really, who gives a goddamn about Justin liking JC?

Justin doesn’t like anyone for a long time after that, at least not that Chris can see, so Chris forgets about derailing Justin’s train o’love.

Then when Chris finds out that Justin is pushing Lance out of the way so he can sit next to Joey on the bus couch, he says casually during the soundcheck in Baltimore, "Did you see the tits on that girl Joey had last night?" And then he goes back to winking at the brunette who is crying happily in the front row, because Chris doesn’t give a rat’s ass if Justin has seen the tits or not.

Then Britney comes, and it seems nothing Chris says can sway Justin’s opinion of her.

"Britney says I should cut my hair."

"Britney wants to know if y’all are gonna be hanging around after."

"Britney thinks I should lift more weights to make my arms bigger."

"Fucking Britney," Chris mutters in Denver. Praise God this is the last leg of her tour with them.

But the others like her.

Joey picks her up when he hugs her, making her squeal and laugh and beat his shoulders, and when he puts her down he is always blushing and grinning.

She sits quietly with JC, nodding sagely when he shows her lyrics and offering a soft opinion or two. She ruffles his flyaway hair and he practically preens under her hand.

She asks Lance all the right questions about FreeLance and sits for long minutes with him while he shows her his stock portfolio.

Chris thinks he might have a stock portfolio, but who the fuck asks to be shown one?

And then, after New Mexico but before Nevada, she’s gone and Justin is alone and Chris catches him with his eyes red and his nose runny.

"She break up with you?" Chris asks, trying to not really care.

"Naw," Justin says, waving a hand. Then, "Yeah. Sort of. I mean, we all still love each other and shit, but it’s too hard. Her tour, our tour. You know."

Chris doesn’t, but he says he does.

***

There are numerous girls after Britney, and something is wrong with all of them.

"She’s too fucking young, Justin. Christ, her mom brought her over!"

"That one? She’s sort of cute, I guess. If you like that horsey look."

"She sort of looks like Britney, doesn’t she, Lance?"

But Lance refuses to be party to Chris’s helpful advice for Justin, and gives him a long look. "Seems to me, *Christopher*, that you’d be the best person to find someone for Justin. Since your standards for him are so high, and all."

Chris pretends he doesn’t hear Lance, and compensates by jumping on Joey’s stomach. Joey shoves him onto the floor.

***

Chris doesn’t notice the lack of Justin in his life until Justin’s been gone for at least three weeks.

Not gone, gone, since the five of them are together every fucking day whether they want to be or not. It’s a tour, after all, and there’s no getting away from anyone on tour.

Not unless you want to.

But Chris realizes Justin is gone in the sense that there is no flash of a smile at breakfast. There are no long, gangly limbs stretching comfortably over his on the bus couch, and there is no warm presence at his side during press photos.

Justin is still there, physically. And Chris cannot figure out what the difference is, but it’s there. So he asks Joey.

"He’s right there," Joey gestures with his chin. "Talking to the caterer. See?" And Chris only sees that Joey doesn’t understand what he was really trying to say.

It’s out of the question to ask JC where Justin has gone, because everyone knows JC is even more sweetly clueless than Joey is. Asking him would only result in a worried, "Justin’s gone? But where could he go? We’re supposed to be in Denver tomorrow."

Chris doesn’t ask Lance because Lance might tell him.

***

Chris stays in one night after a show, even though Joey tries to convince him not to. Even though Justin’s going also and Chris thinks for a minute that it could be a good time to corner Justin and ask him where he’s gone. He decides not to when he sees Lance throw an arm around Justin’s neck and drag him down to smack a kiss on his cheek.

Chris stays in and orders room service at midnight because he can, not because he’s hungry.

***

Around three, Chris wakes up when he hears the low rumble of Lance’s voice and Justin’s answering giggle through the wall. He pounds on the space over the headboard, and the voices stop. Chris doesn’t want to think what he might hear next, so he pulls the pillow over his head and almost misses the knock on the door.

He blinks into the dark and waits, thinking he imagined it, but then the knock comes again and it’s not really knocking so much as pounding.

Chris opens the door and doesn’t care that he’s in his boxers and nothing else. He especially doesn’t care when he sees it’s Lance, and Lance is drunk.

Lance drunk is even more calculating and careful than Lance sober. "You got some kind of problem?" he enunciates carefully, and Chris wants to get mad but he’s too tired.

"Yes," Chris answers wearily. "My problem is that you’re standing in my doorway in the middle of the night."

"Fuck that," Lance says easily, and walks in. Chris stands in the doorway and thinks if maybe he doesn’t turn around, that Lance won’t be there. He also thinks that Justin is now alone in Lance’s room and shouldn’t Lance go back to him and, like, kiss him again on the cheek? Or something.

"Why you playin’ with Juppy, man?" Lance’s accent always thickens with the addition of alcohol, Chris notes, and realizes it makes him sound less intelligent. Chris is not fooled.

"What the fuck does that mean."

"It means you’re being a dick on purpose and he’s not used to that. It means you’re his best friend and you’re treating him like a stranger. It means he cried twice in my room this week." Lance’s gaze is steady, though his eyes are cloudy. Chris thinks he had one too many Grey Goose vodkas.

"And? Quit fucking around, Bass, it’s fucking three-thirty in the morning." Chris pretends to yawn although he’s more awake now than ever.

"So go to him, you dumbass. I’m too old to play nursemaid." And he lies down on the bed to prove his point, kicking off his shoes. Chris watches Lance get comfortable in the spot he had vacated just minutes before and wonders how his night suddenly became dramatic. "Hurry up," Lance mumbles into Chris’s pillow. "He’s prolly sitting there sniveling already. He drank too much."

Chris relishes the thought of dealing with a drunk Justin even less than he relishes crawling in bed with Lance, but he goes anyway.

Lance’s door is ajar and Chris slides in sideways, hoping Justin is either in the bathroom or asleep and Chris can skip this whole scene and go sleep in Joey’s room.

Justin is not doing either of those things. He is sitting in a chair by the window, letting the moonlight wash over his features, and Chris would roll his eyes at the calculated drama of it if he wasn’t so caught by the defeated look that Justin wears.

Justin Timberlake is many things, but defeated is not one of them, and Chris is alarmed. "You all right, J?" he asks before he can stop himself.

"Ayup," Justin slurs, popping the p, and his eyes are overly bright.

"Mkay," Chris says, and wants to fool himself into turning right the hell around and leaving, so instead he walks forward and kneels at the foot of Justin’s chair. Justin looks down. His cheeks are wet and Chris inwardly sighs. Drama.

Only suddenly it doesn’t seem like an act when Justin swallows tightly and looks out the window again and Chris feels miles away. He tries for levity. "Monica in makeup’s gonna be all pissed off and shit if she has to hide that matching set under your eyes."

Justin nods once, and more wetness spills onto his cheeks.

Chris grabs on to Justin’s hand to pull himself to his feet and that is how he finds Justin on the floor with him instead, a big warm pile of Justin lying in his lap and clutching at his shirt and rasping, "What did I do? Why were you so mad?"

Chris blinks and can’t remember ever being mad at Justin, so he says, "Um. I wasn’t. What?"

"Everything," Justin goes on, as if Chris hadn’t spoken. "Everything I did, you would glare at me or tell me I was fucked up or I was being stupid. Nothing was right, Chris, not any of the girls, especially Brit, and I tried being extra nice and you didn’t care, and why were you so mad?" Justin swipes furiously at the tears that keep falling, and Chris feels small, smaller than even the time his mom patiently explained why they were having spaghetti again, for the third night in a row, and he had thrown his plate on the floor in defiance.

Justin has stopped talking and is still in a huddled heap in Chris’s lap. Chris doesn’t know when he started stroking the soft fuzz on Justin’s head, but he watches his hand making smooth patterns through the lack of hair. He thinks maybe Justin has fallen asleep and is wondering how he’s going to get up off the floor when Justin turns and blinks at him. "I’m sorry," Justin whispers.

Chris has to swallow over the burning in his throat. "For what, Jup?"

"I don’t know," Justin answers truthfully. "For whatever made you so mad. I promise I won’t do it again, only I’m not real sure what it was, but it makes me all fucked up inside to think that you’re mad about somethin’."

Chris only means to lean down to press a kiss to Justin’s sweaty forehead but somehow Justin leans up at the same time, and Chris can taste salt and sorrow on Justin’s lips and then Chris thinks he might be crying himself. Just a little bit.

Chris doesn’t know why it is so imperative that Justin get his shirt off, but on the floor of the expensive hotel room with the moon shining in the window, it suddenly becomes vital. There is mingled breath and Justin’s soft murmurs and all Chris knows--or wants to know--is that he is painfully hard and Justin is fumbling beneath the waistband of his boxers for his dick.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry," Justin is mumbling, and Chris shushes him.

"Shh, baby, s’all right," he murmurs, and thinks that he hasn’t called Justin "baby" in years, not since they were all young and scared and fresh. And then he is arching forward into Justin’s trembling hand, and Justin is hot and hard and naked beneath him and Chris can’t stop touching him. It was always Justin, Chris thinks, and knows why he was so mad at all the Lances and the Britneys and the nameless starry fangirls who blocked his view of Justin.

"I was mad," Chris whispers into the dark, and Justin trembles a little, but Chris thinks maybe that’s because he’s rolling his hips into Justin’s erection. "I was mad, but not at you, and not anymore."

"Promise?" Justin asks, and Chris can see his eyes are closed and his lashes are dark on his cheeks.

"Yeah," Chris answers, and arches his neck on the carpet when Justin begins to stroke him.

***

Chris wakes in the morning to the sound of Lance fiddling in his duffel for something, and throws a pillow in that direction. "You couldn’t have waited till we got up, asshole?" Justin starts at the sound of his voice and Chris regrets his volume.

Lance is unperturbed. "You’re in my room," he points out. "In my bed."

"Take my room," Justin mumbles into the pillow. "Take anyone’s room. Just quit shouting."

"Breakfast!" Joey announces, bursting through the door. "Oh, hey. Hey!" He turns and elbows JC, who has followed. "Lookit!" He points joyfully toward the bed.

"Oh, hey!" JC echoes, and Chris has had enough.

"Can you dumbshits shut UP!" he howls.

"They didn’t get much sleep," Lance explains helpfully. "With the sex, and all."

Joey starts howling with laughter and Chris watches JC blush. He looks down at the smooth expanse of Justin’s back and thinks maybe there’s no reason to really get mad.

~End

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