Catwalk
by Pixie

It started when JC was up on the catwalk, 50 feet above the ground, trying desperately to make the mad dash from stage right to stage left before the top of the phrase. And it was a good thing, he thought later, that it was the last fucking song of the night, because he didn’t know how he would have held it together enough to continue the show.

Somewhere around the middle, he looked down. It made the ground seem very far away, and the vertigo hit him violently. The lighters and neon necklaces in the crowd didn’t help, and for a second JC thought he was going to vomit, right in the middle of Bye Bye Bye, and it would land squarely on top of Justin’s bandana.

He didn’t, thankfully, and then he was blessedly on the other side.

***

JC forgot about it until two nights later, in Chicago.

Up on the catwalk again, last song. This time the dizziness began before he had taken three steps, and he had to grab the railing when he swayed. He thought he might have heard gasps from the nosebleed seats over his shoulder, but he couldn’t be sure because his sweat had turned icy and his stomach was roiling.

JC didn’t really know how he got to the other side that time, but later, watching the video of the show, Wade stabbed a finger at the monitor and said, "What the hell was *that*?

Joey frowned at the tv. "Did you trip, or something?"

JC shifted under their gazes and shrugged. "I dunno. I got dizzy for a sec, that’s all."

Justin snorted his annoyance, because of course they all knew that Justin never fucked up during a performance, not ever, and for a second JC hated him.

Then Chris, whom they all knew had a fear of heights and you couldn’t pay him to get up on the bridge, was punching JC in the arm, and said, "Thought graceful pretty boys like you never tripped," and somehow that made it ok.

***

Four nights after that, JC felt his throat starting to close during the first measure of Bye Bye Bye. He was pretty sure by now that he hated that song, because somehow it was contributing to his new fear of heights, and he briefly considered not even climbing the stairs to the catwalk at all. He would just stay center stage, sort of do a shimmy thing around Lance, and –

And then he was up, 50 feet high, and his heart stopped doing its nervous scattering and started thrashing around inside his chest.

A white sign in the faceless, screeching crowd caught his eye – JC 4Eva (exclamation point heart) – and he became fixated upon it, using it to draw him across the quivering, shaking catwalk, and then he was down and disappearing backstage and it was over and he was panting.

He slid down the wall of their dressing room and wouldn’t look at anyone, even when Joey laid a comforting hand on his head and Lance sat next to him and rubbed his arm. Justin stayed mercifully on the other side of the room, annoyed that he was not being treated like the superstar he was ten minutes ago.

When Lance got up to retrieve a bottled water, Chris slid in next to JC and peered worriedly at him. "Whassamatter, C? I never seen you shook up before."

"Um," JC said, swallowing thickly. "Um."

"I think it’s the bridge," Joey said calmly, because Joey was always calm. Unless something bad was happening to Justin, then Joey tended to get slightly frantic, but for the most part he was steady all the time. JC liked that.

Chris frowned. "The scaffolding? You don’t like being on the scaffolding?"

"Um," JC said again, and then was horrified to find himself near tears.

"Oh, hey," Chris said, alarmed, "Hey. It’s ok. Justin can do it, right, Just?" He looked at Justin, who had lost his sullen look and was now only slightly miffed.

"Go on the bridge? But that’s the part when I’m in front –" and then he stopped because Chris was suddenly nose to collarbone with him.

"You can do it for one fucking night, Justin," and JC was reminded of a small but ferocious dog. And then the cool place that Chris had vacated against his side was warm again, and Justin was looking startled across the room.

"Yeah, sure," Justin said. "I can do it."

***

It turned out to be for more than one night, because JC’s relief at not having to go up above the stage was so palpable that they all wanted to keep him that way.

Justin groused about it for a bit, because he knew they all expected him to, but since it was for JC, he soon stopped grumbling and just did it.

JC watched him covertly the first couple of times, hoping to see the great Justin Timberlake at least stumble a little bit, but Justin sprang across the catwalk like he did everything else. There was ease and flash and fluid sexiness, and then JC hated him again.

But when Chris gyrated by him and rolled his eyes so no one could see, JC grinned.

***

JC found himself in Chris’s vicinity more and more, and whether it was by accident or on purpose, he didn’t know, but Chris was always just *there*.

He would slide down the arm of the couch onto the floor next to JC. "Here, gimme that fucking thing," he would say when JC was taking his turn on the Playstation. "Lemme show you how a real man does it."

"Better give it to Jup, then," Joey teased, and Chris would half-heartedly give him the finger while Justin crowed. JC would feel Chris lean into him slightly, and JC’s throat would catch for a minute until he swallowed and it went away. But he wouldn’t move from the pressure of Chris’s arm against his.

And when JC was buried in music, and only his keyboard mattered, Chris was suddenly there, leaning against the bus wall and watching JC in his bunk while he played. JC looked up at him once, questioning.

Chris shrugged. "Like your sound, man. Soothing, or whatever."

So JC took off his headphones so Chris could hear, and moved over in his small bunk and let Chris squish in too, and they lay length to length while JC played mindless, calming music.

Sometimes Chris slept, lulled by the humming of wheels on pavement and the low rumbling of Joey’s laughter and the muted tones from JC’s keyboard. He would lay his dark head down on his crossed arms, his face half-hidden, and when JC heard his breathing even out, he stopped playing.

JC would lay his head down too, facing Chris, and just watch.

JC woke up a couple of times with the top of Chris’s head fitted snugly under his chin and Chris’s arm thrown haphazardly over his waist.

It was nice, JC thought.

***

The night came when Justin exercised his I Am A Teenaged Pop Star rights and refused to go up on the bridge one more time.

"Come *on*," he shouted, "I’ve been doing it for three fucking weeks now, why can’t the great Lance-I’m-So-Hot-Bass do it? Or Joe?" To which they all rolled their eyes at that because of course no one expected Joey, who was bigger than all of them, to go up on the catwalk, but Justin was motivated and wouldn’t stop.

"Jesus, Chris could even do it, if he would tear his nose out of JC’s ass for five seconds," and then JC looked up, startled. What the hell did that mean? But Chris was glaring at Justin.

"You’re such a fucking baby!" he shouted. "For chrissakes!"

"Me?" Justin sounded incredulous. "Me? I’m not the fuckup who’s scared of heights!"

And then Lance and Chris were both shouting at Justin to just shut up already, and Joey was trying to shush both of them while finding a nice way to tell Justin he was being an asshole, and all of it was hurting JC’s ears, so he just said quietly, "It’s all right. He doesn’t have to do it."

Justin wheeled around and stomped off to sulk in his bunk, and Joey predictably followed. A minute later, there was smothered chuckling coming from behind the curtain.

Lance eyed JC. "You sure you wanna do it, JC? S’all right if you don’t, Wade’s still cool with Jup on top."

But JC had had enough of Justin’s histrionics, and after all, he couldn’t go on forever being afraid to go up 50 feet in the air, for godsakes.

So he’d go up, tomorrow, in Houston.

***

There were too many people around him, JC couldn’t breathe very well. Or maybe that was from the fall he had taken down the short flight of backstage stairs. Whatever.

He had gone up. He had not looked down. He had concentrated only on reaching the end before the top of the phrase, just like he always had before, but at the very end one of the lighting crew above him had jiggled the scaffolding and JC had flung himself, trembling, to the platform that was five feet away.

Thirty-eight thousand people had seen it, and somehow that thought was not as horrifying to JC as what the rest of his bandmates would think.

He got offstage, somehow, but there was a flight of three stairs that he wasn’t used to, and in his blind panic he fell.

JC remembered being scooped up, most likely by Joey because he remembered it being someone big, and there were loud, worried voices in his ear that made him feel like he was inside a seashell. They were all rushing somewhere, and JC wanted to tell whoever was holding him to slow down because he felt really nauseous but he didn’t want to open his mouth because then he might throw up and wouldn’t *that* just put the cherry on the sundae.

Then, the whoosh of the bus door and the easy, comforting smell of diesel and faint cologne and leftover pizza from lunch, and JC relaxed.

He felt himself deposited like a delicate thing onto the big lounge sofa, and then suddenly the jumble of voices smoothed out and he could pick out actual sentences.

"Um, I could make tea." Justin.

"What the fuck does he need tea for?" Chris, and JC wanted to smile but was still nauseous.

"God, JC, I’m sorry, I’m sorry," Justin babbled, and JC tried to tell him it was ok but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

The couch dipped near his arm. "He just needs to lie here." Lance. Practical Lance, good in crises.

"Here." Joey, and then JC felt Joey’s own ragged quilt, the one his mom had made him before he left on tour, cover him like balm.

"Move it." Chris. Then JC felt Lance get up, and the couch dipped again, and it was Chris. "Jace," he whispered, moving a hand up JC’s arm. "Jace. Can you look at me, you dumb fuck?"

JC felt rather than saw Justin fluttering around, and knew Joey was leaning against the kitchen table, arms folded and his bottom lip between his teeth. Lance was probably just above JC’s head because he could feel someone threading their fingers through his hair, and Chris … Chris was right. here.

JC cracked one eye open. Chris’s eyebrows shot up. "Hey," Chris said. "You all right?"

Which was of course a lame thing to say, JC thought, because he so obviously was not all right, but it was Chris and there was a wrinkle of worry on his forehead and he wanted Chris to keep stroking his arm like that.

So he said he was.

Everyone else seemed to be ok with that, or they most likely lost interest, JC thought. Justin quit his nervous fussing and went to change clothes, and over his shoulder JC heard Joey puttering in the kitchen like he always did after a show, ravenous.

Only Chris stayed.

Chris, with his bottomless dark eyes and serious expression, stayed on the couch with him while Lance shucked off his shirt and folded into the floor with the pillow from his bunk. JC felt around underneath him, searching, and then handed Lance the remote to the tv.

"Thank you," Lance yawned, and turned it on low.

JC felt his muscles begin to uncoil, finally, and wondered if most of it might be due to the fact that Chris was lying lengthwise next to him, still dressed in wardrobe, and smelling like stardom. JC looked down and noticed he was still dressed, also.

"We didn’t change," he murmured inanely, wondering if the wardrobe girls were running around in circles because their outfits were not immediately being dry-cleaned.

"Huh? Yeah," Chris said, looking down. "Who gives a fuck."

"I’m kind of … gross," JC noted, realizing that his sweat had dried and his shirt with the glitter sequins was scratchy and hard on his skin.

"I knew *that*, C," Chris mumbled, his head down next to JC’s nose, and JC snorted a laugh.

"I wanna change," he told Chris, and suddenly JC was desperate to be out of his show clothes because they only served to remind him that he was an enormous fucking idiot who couldn’t even be 50 feet in the air without crying.

"So change, Jace." Chris was agreeable and compliant, the way he always was in the last minutes before sleep, and JC was loath to leave the haven of couch and Chris.

But, well … he did smell.

Stepping gingerly over Lance, who was asleep in front of the television, JC picked his way around the whirlwind of clothing, shoes, CDs, and video games, and shut himself in the bathroom. The bus bathroom was so small that they had all bruised themselves at one time or another on the sink while trying to wash up, or change clothes, or do their hair, so it was just easier to leave the sliding partition open now. Except when one of them needed to use the facilities, then Lance had insisted on the door being closed.

"Justin! That’s fuckin’ *nasty*, y’all," Lance had exclaimed upon seeing Justin urinating with the door open. "I mean, jeez."

Justin had laughed at him and kept on peeing, but JC knew they all kept the door closed after that. Lance hardly ever demanded anything.

It was just a habit JC had anyway, to close the door, so he didn’t think about it while he attempted to splash water on himself. And when he caught his own reflection, he leaned forward until his forehead touched the cool glass and his fingertips rested lightly on the mirror.

He was that way, staring at himself, when the door whispered open, and then Chris was filling up the empty space. "Don’t cry," he murmured to JC, and JC thought that was an odd thing to say until he realized that he was, and that there were tear tracks streaking their way through the grime on his face.

He let Chris turn him around and take him by the hand like a child down the narrow hallway to the bunks, and JC wondered distantly why he never noticed this fierce, protective side of Chris before. Protectiveness he attributed to Joey, who watched over all of them. Fierceness he attributed to Justin, who did everything with intensity and heart and expected nothing less from others around him.

But Chris had always been just Chris. Rambunctious and loud and compulsive, letting his hair grow long for months and then one day cutting it all off, claiming he was bored. Running around constantly without a shirt on, comfortable in his own skin. Slugging everyone in the shoulder or tickling them in the ribs, Chris’s presence was physical and emotional all at once, and JC surrounded himself with it.

He let Chris tangle up with him in bed, let Chris shush him and soothe him and finally, when Chris didn’t know what else to do because JC couldn’t seem to stop the silent tears, JC heard him start to hum.

It helped, and he slept.

***

He woke up some time after midnight and well before dawn, and Chris was still there.

And then there were no clothes in the way, and JC wanted to crawl inside Chris’s skin and stay there forever, and not have to ever worry again about performing or catwalks, and Chris somehow knew.

"Shh .. s’ok, baby," Chris murmured against JC’s neck when JC clutched at him a little desperately, and then there was a soft kiss planted on his cheek, his forehead, his eyelids. "S’ok. Just shh." JC thought maybe the next kiss was supposed to go on his other cheek, but he moved, and ended up with a warm, dry, sleepy mouth against his, and JC threaded his fingers through Chris’s hair to trap him there.

He felt Chris grin against his mouth and the gentle pressure of tongue and the easy roll of hips against his own, and JC pressed back and didn’t care if Chris noticed that he was hard as steel.

"You gotta sleep, C," Chris whispered.

***

The next night, when there was no show and Justin and Lance went hippity-hopping out to the clubs and Joey was engrossed in Tomb Raider, JC climbed onto the two man bus and found Chris in his bunk. He crawled in to the sound of Chris’s low chuckle and buried his face in his neck and breathed for the first time all day.

***

"They’re doing it," Justin said.

"Who is?" Joey asked, leaning his forehead against Justin’s and wondering why his eyes were that blue. Wasn’t there a law or something against eyes that color?

Justin nodded his head toward the front of the bus, where Chris and JC lay entangled in each other while watching "Star Wars" for the thousandth time. "Those two."

Joey glanced up. Chris and JC seemed to be enthralled with quoting dialogue.

"You’re to learn the ways of the force if you’re to come with me to Alderaan," Chris announced to JC.

"Alderaan? I’m not going to Alderaan." JC looked superior and young at once.

"Learn about the force, Luke!" Chris shouted, and leaped up from his spot and pounced.

"Get *off*, asshole!" JC grunted, but seemed absurdly pleased when Chris planted a loud kiss on his forehead.

"Oh, yeah," Joey said amiably. "They’re doing it. Why aren’t we?"

"Because your fucking pants are still on, Joe."

***

Two days later, Lance found them kissing in JC’s hotel room. He had only wanted new batteries for his CD player and had used the adjoining door, and then found himself stuttering over his words while Chris calmly extracted himself from JC and stood up.

"Hey, Lance. ‘Sup?"

"I, uh. Batteries. Um, do you have some? Sorry. Um."

"Yeah, I got some in my bag. Hold up a sec."

Lance threw JC a pleading look. "Sorry," he said. "Didn’t know you guys were, erm. Together."

JC blinked. "Together? We’re not. We aren’t."

Lance looked at Chris, who had paused in mid-search and was looking oddly at JC over his shoulder. "Oh," Lance said hastily, "I just thought. Yeah. Oh, thanks," he said to Chris, who had handed him the batteries, and nearly tripped over his feet while slamming the door closed behind him.

JC grinned. "Get back here," he demanded, leaning against the pillows again, and when Chris didn’t, when he just stood in the middle of the floor with a muscle jumping in his jaw, JC raised his eyebrows in question. "What?"

"Nothin’," Chris shrugged, and looked around for his jacket. "Think I’m hungry or something. My stomach hurts."

"I’ll go," JC started to say ‘with you’, but was cut off by a sharp wave of Chris’s hand and a mumbled excuse and then Chris was gone, the door closing softly behind him and only the rumpled bedspread to remind JC he had been there at all.

***

It was done as suddenly as it had started.

Chris did not seek him out any more. He didn’t sit next to him at dinner, he didn’t muscle Joey out of the way to stand next to him at rehearsal, and he didn’t ask JC if he was going out with them at night.

Chris just *didn’t*, JC noted after a week. He just wasn’t.

He still looked up and said "hey" when JC walked into the room, and during a lame interview for Teen Beat he punched JC in the shoulder when the interviewer complimented both of them on the new single, but he still just wasn’t.

JC was miserable.

He tried once to talk to Chris after they’d all gone to bed and Chris was slouched on the sofa staring slack-jawed at the tv, but Chris had barely grunted his responses and after a while JC just gave up.

And then one night Chris stumbled drunkenly back onto the bus wearing a ‘Spear Britney’ t-shirt, and Justin got pissed off. Joey got pissed off on Justin’s behalf, even though they all knew Joey couldn’t stand Britney and pretended to be nice to her for Justin and Justin’s PR. Lance got pissed off that they were all yelling at each other at two a.m., and JC didn’t know what had happened to make them all start shouting at each other but suddenly it was too much.

"What’s your problem?" he demanded, poking Chris in the shoulder and ignoring the fact that he reeked of liquor and women and had a mutinous look on face. Chris had a mutinous look on his face most of the time anyway.

"My problem, dipshit, is the fact that you’re poking me in the shoulder," Chris slurred, and poked back with enough force to send JC crashing into Joey, who said "hey" in an alarmed tone.

"Fucker," JC snapped, and planted an open palm in the center of Chris’s chest and shoved. Chris went sprawling over the arm of the couch, making Justin give a startled "woah" and then Lance grabbed JC’s arm and yanked him backwards.

"Cut it out, C," Lance barked. "Why the hell do you think he’s like that? You fuckin’ blind?"

"No, Lance," Chris said through his teeth, as he lay on his back squeezing his eyes shut.

"What?" JC demanded. "’No, Lance’ what?"

"’No, Lance, don’t tell him I have an enormous crush on him,’" Justin piped up, and then went "oof!" when he received an elbow in the ribs from Joey, who was immediately apologetic and slung an arm around Justin’s waist instead.

JC slanted his eyes sideways at all of them, except for Chris who still lay on his back with his eyes closed and an arm flung over his head. "He doesn’t," JC thought to explain. "He isn’t. He’s. Um."

"Stupid C," Justin yawned, looking very young in a t-shirt and sweatpants. "Sure he is. And he does." He leaned his head against Joey’s shoulder, which was always warm and always solid, and nodded. "Stupid C," he mumbled again.

JC looked at Lance, who had lost his adult glare and now just looked tired. "Naw," JC said, shaking his head, but Lance nodded.

"Yep," Lance said. "So kiss ‘im or whatever you do and Christ on the cross, can we sleep now? And Chris, take off than fuckin’ shirt before Justin cries." And then Lance yelped when he felt Justin’s foot connect with his shin.

Chris sighed deeply and shook his head as if terribly offended, but sat up and began to lift the black shirt over his head. JC swallowed tightly and looked away from the bare expanse of smooth skin, and did not think about the time he kissed Chris right under his belly button, over and over until Chris burst out laughing and shoved him away. "Too ticklish, quit it."

JC turned to explain again to the others that they were way off, that Chris totally had no crush on him, he was only being sympathetic to his sudden fear of heights because Chris had been known to get nauseous himself at anything higher than a few feet. And there was no way Chris had a crush on him, and it should be obvious to all of them because he had been such a dick to JC the last two weeks instead of being his usual sweet, playful self, and was Lance shitting him with that crush thing?

But the bus was empty.

The swaying of the curtains over the bunks were the only sign that the others were still even on the bus. JC blinked, and looked back at the couch. Chris sat in the middle of it, looking small and somehow vulnerable without his shirt on, and JC felt a stab of what could be guilt, he thought.

"Hey," he said quietly, and perched on the arm of the sofa. Not too close, not too far.

"Hm," Chris grunted, and would not meet his eyes. "You hungry? I’m hungry. I want pizza."

"There’s frozen DiGiorno," JC offered. "Want me to make it?"

"You gonna eat any?"

"A piece, I guess."

"Then make it, and shut up."

"Fuck off," JC said easily, and rose.

It was done in fifteen minutes, and of course Chris was asleep by then, his neck cushioned on the back of the couch and his legs sprawled out. JC put the pizza on the small kitchen table and nudged his foot. "Kirkpatrick," he said softly. "Come on, loser. Bed."

Chris’s eyes moved under his lids but did not open. JC leaned down with the intent to shove one of Chris’s arms around his shoulders to lift him, but suddenly things tilted and he found himself in Chris’s lap with serious – if a little red – eyes watching him intently. JC darted his tongue out to wet his lips and saw Chris follow the movement.

"What Lance said," Chris began, making no move to get up, "uh .. yeah."

JC pondered. "For real?" he asked, and knew if Chris started laughing or rolled his eyes or cracked a joke, JC would split his lip.

Something flickered behind Chris’s eyes and was gone. "For real. You freaked out?"

"Yeah," JC admitted. "Are you?"

"Fuck, yeah," Chris snorted, and JC kissed him.

Shorts and t-shirts were easily rid, and when they were smooth and warm and naked together, JC slid down the soft spread of blankets and scratchy couch and Chris, and enveloped him with one warm lick.

Chris gave a barely inaudible grunt and fisted the blankets around JC’s head and JC could hear him whispering, encouraging, "*yes*, C, *again*, JC, like *that*, C," and JC knew he wouldn’t stop even if the whole damn bus crashed and sent them spilling out onto the highway, he wouldn’t stop because it was warm and right and it was Chris.

And later, much later if the crack of dawn peeping in the window was any indication, when he felt Chris’s sleepy hand close around his aching erection and JC felt himself arching into the easy thrusts, he knew that Chris would never stop either.

***

"They’re doing it again," Justin announced sleepily to Joey as they passed the couch.

"Uh .. yep," Joey agreed, kicking Chris’s boxers out of his path. "Gross, dude. Like I want *underwear* as my breakfast atmosphere."

"I don’t have any," Justin leered, looking too old and too delectable for someone his age, and Joey slid a hand down the back of his sweatpants.

"Cool," Joey murmured, and when JC finally opened one eye in the silence, they were gone.

***

"Is it cool? Are you sure?" Chris was dancing around worriedly and Wade was squawking something at them about not sweating in the new silk. Justin was peering in the mirror that one of the makeup girls was holding up for him and Joey was just sitting, calm as always, and Lance was practicing the new steps. JC could see his lips moving as he counted.

JC was not sure at all, as a matter of fact, he thought he shouldn’t have eaten that second helping of Joey’s macaroni and cheese at dinner because now it was threatening to make a surprise appearance again, and he was trying to hide from Wade because he knew he was sweating in the silk, and if Chris didn’t stop hopping around like a loon JC thought his head might explode.

"I’m sure," he barked, and the flash of hurt on Chris’s face was enough to make him soften his tone. "I’m sure," he said, and put a hand on Chris’s shoulder and squeezed. "Just .. remember what you said."

"Totally, man," Chris grinned, and hopped off to ask Justin if he thought he might hit puberty tonight so his voice wouldn’t crack.

***

Ninth measure of Bye Bye Bye, and JC bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted the coppery sheen of blood. Up the ladder, one foot on the platform, don’t look down and don’t try to dance and don’t even try to fucking sing, just get across and by the eleventh measure it’s all over and don’t look at the crowd.

And then JC glanced to his right, which wasn’t exactly looking *down*, it was sorta just over to upstage, and Chris was right where he said he’d be, his back to the audience.

JC caught a flash of brown eyes with a devilish glint, and then Chris was grinning and winking at him and the panic that was caught in JC’s throat faded away. Past the middle, hurry hurry because Justin was doing his sidling thing around Joey and then it was the eleventh measure and his feet hit the solid platform.

Down the ladder, two feet on solid stage, line up in third place, grin the million-dollar grin, and it was finished.

On his way out, he glanced up at the catwalk.

Not so high.

~End