Not Like Them
by Rhys

You might been hurt, babe
That ain’t no lie
You’ve seen ‘em all come and go, oh
I remember you told me
That it made you believe in
No man, no cry
Maybe that’s why

~..~

Chris had a few mission statements in life. One, be funny, even when you’re dying, be funny, even when you want to die, be funny, even when the world is dying: funny. Two, have sex at least once every three months, and if you’re that deprived, god forbid, masturbate twice a day to keep your dick in good working order. Three, credit cards are evil, and with millions of dollars in your bank account, unnecessary, so don’t use them, don’t wrack up debt, don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.

Mostly, though, mission statement number two was the important one.

Chris was going to get laid.

~..~

Out of respect for the guys and his career, Chris kept his preference for enthusiastic bottoms limited to three or four times a year when they were touring or recording. Nothing killed the mood more than the lingering fear that the nubile young accountant under him was going to sell him out to fatten his wallet. He was pretty good about picking them out, and, if he remembered, usually got them to sign something. But when his dick was screaming for a tight hot ass, sometimes he sheer forgot.

It wasn’t his fault, really. Desperation drove him to it.

~..~

Everyone else had really noble plans for the Hiatus. Chris thought of it in capital letters. JC was going to boat, and write songs, and produce, and rediscover himself. Lance, up to space; Justin, finding his own space. Joey was being Daddy Joey and Actor Joey and Pseudo-Husband Joey. Chris, quite frankly, just wanted to get laid.

He had a type, too. Not teenage, because no, but young enough, and younger than him. Nubile and lithe, body-type whatever, though he was a pig and did happen to like really thin guys, but that was more of a kink than anything else. And enthusiastic. If the guy acted like he couldn’t live without a dick in his ass, or, at the very least, wasn’t doing it just because, oh my god, I’m about to get fucked by a famous guy! then Chris was happy. Sometimes, they were a bit too eager, but mostly, Chris loved a guy who loved to get fucked.

So Chris’s plans as they stood looked something like this: have sex. Have more sex. Have even more sex. Fuck morning, day and night. Fuck until his dick falls off, hopefully from overuse and not from an STD, because Chris was careful like that. But fuck, fuck, fuck and never, ever fall for any of them.

Because that was just stupid.

~..~

Chris was a bit old school when it came to picking up guys. He was lazy, too. But mostly, he relied on old school methods because he respected them and they were easy. He folded up a navy blue handkerchief and tucked it into his left pocket. There were a few places he knew where this practice still worked, and he went to all of them. Just not enough to be known as a regular, because that was pathetic.

The good thing, Chris supposed, was there were still plenty of starfuckers who wouldn’t have given him the time of day years ago but now, would proudly wiggle their bums and let him know that, yes, they too wore a navy blue hanky but on the right side. Chris’s sensors were honed to narrowing in and identifying colours, even in murky darkness.

Desperation was a beautiful tool.

~..~

“You’re,” he said then offered his hand. Chris smirked and shook his head. “Oh.”

“I am,” Chris said, “but don’t go formal on my ass or anything, all right? I’m just a guy. Can I buy you another drink? And if I do, will you tell me your name?” Chris was trying to keep the excited pitch out of his voice. This guy was young, blond and beautiful.

“Adrian. And sure, yeah. Um, rum and coke is good,” Adrian said. Chris just wanted to fuck this man right now, but he did have standards. It only took five minutes, but a little discussion could usually signal to Chris whether or not this guy was worth his effort.

Five minutes later, Chris was leading Adrian to his Cobra, trying not to touch his ass.

~..~

Chris started having so much sex that he began forgetting names. He had a small stack of signed papers on his desk, though there were a hell of a lot omissions, and Chris knew he was completely defeating the point by doing that. There was the guy from Texas, who was the most perfect specimen of a man Chris had ever bedded, and the guy into light bondage, which made Chris’s day because hey, he was into light bondage, too. Men looked beautiful when tied to the posts of Chris’s bed. And Adrian, who Chris had slept with another nine times since he was just so willing and enthusiastic and liked doing it while hockey or basketball was on. But the more Chris forgot, the more Chris felt like a normal guy just having sex. It was becoming a moot point.

Life was suddenly really good. Chris was sated and comfortable, and he felt like he’d caught up on all those missed opportunities, though he was still bitter Joey talked him out of macking on Trevor from O-Town. Because he was looking, he was, and Chris wasn’t above fucking rival boyband members. Joey said, in all likelihood, Trevor was a top, and Chris admitted that, yeah, he was getting vibes. But Trevor was definitely looking.

Still, Chris was having more sex than he could remember ever having before, and it was all with really hot guys. Really hot. Sometimes, Chris looked at them and couldn’t believe he was sleeping with them, and sometimes, he was sure, they looked at him and thought the same thing.

~..~

JC showed up one morning as Chris was ushering his latest bottom boy out the door. Jon, a flutist who was attempting to get a Masters in music at the University of Florida, nearly fell over JC saying hello, so Chris kicked him out a bit harder, shutting the door the minute he was off the porch. Chris didn’t like to be reminded that on the starfucker list, he was still lower than three-fifths of his group. Thankfully, Joey would always and forever be last. Usually.

“Chris,” JC said and raised an eyebrow.

“He signed papers, man. It’s all good,” Chris said dismissively and flopped his hand through the air. JC still didn’t look convinced, but Chris didn’t really care. Instead, he turned around and went to get some coffee. He was only up because Jon needed to leave, and Chris didn’t trust people not to rob him blind as they let themselves out. “Coffee, dude? Or tea.”

“Tea,” JC said and sat at the kitchen table. “Chris, you might want to look at this.”

Chris leaned over the counter and winced. “Shit.”

“Mm-hm.” JC started to read, adjusting his black-framed glasses. “Chris Fitzpatrick of Nsync is living the wild life. A source tells us that the oldest member of the famed boyband is not only gay but ‘an aggressive top who loves to [sleep with] willing guys. I would know.’ Fitzpatrick is known to frequent several gay clubs in town, where he doesn’t even try to hide his identity. ‘He knows people will [sleep with] him if he’s famous. It’s a thrill,’ our source says. If we were Fitzpatrick, we would be more careful about our exploits.”

“Fitzpatrick,” Chris said. “God, if you’re going to starfuck me and sell the fucking story, at least have the decency to give the tabloids the right name.” Chris snatched the magazine out of JC’s hand and replaced it with a cup of tea. “God, there’s more. There’s graphic detail. Johnny’s going to fucking slaughter me.”

“I know.” JC sipped his tea.

Chris felt an unsteady feeling beginning to brew in his stomach. It felt something like regret, he thought, or maybe guilt. Shakily, he scratched his head then folded the magazine up, placing it flat on the table. “What do I do?”

“Stop,” JC said simply.

~..~

Chris was miserable. On one hand, he thought he should be allowed to fuck whomever he chose. On the other, he didn’t want to mess up the group. It was tragic that it was one or the other. Dani and Michelle came over, to spend time with him and watch gay porn. Mostly because he was watching gay porn when they showed up. They weren’t really into it.

“Honey, it’s not the end of the world,” Dani said.

Chris sighed deeply.

“At least you got in a lot of sex, right?” Michelle added. “With some really hot guys.”

“It’s not the same,” Chris moaned, slinking lower on the couch and staring at the two young twinks discovering blowjobs for the first time. It was, like, half a lifetime ago, but Chris remembered the initial thrill of discovery. Now, it wasn’t quite so fun.

“Honey,” Dani said, “maybe, just maybe, it’s time for you to settle down. Like, for real. Not with lesbian beards,” Dani and Michelle grinned at each other, and Chris smiled despite himself. “But really. Maybe place a personal ad, or go online. Or there’s my cousin Rich.”

“I hate your cousin Rich,” Chris muttered.

~..~

To appease Dani, he went out with Rich, and to appease Michelle, he also went out with Adrian again.

Rich, unfortunately, was still a cocky asshole who thought way more of himself than Chris did, and Chris left him in the middle of a trendy coffee spot, going home, instead, with the waiter who was just getting off his shift. Chris appreciated a man who gave him extra whipped cream.

Adrian, unfortunately, was head over heels for him. He listened to Chris, and seemed to honestly like the same things, and when he smiled, the whole world lit up. But Chris couldn’t do that to him, make Adrian date him, because it was cruel. If Chris was going to have a fantastic boyfriend, he didn’t want to see life in the popstar closet slowly suck the life out of him until it became too much and he left, broken.

“I’m sorry,” Chris said quietly.

“I guess I understand,” Adrian replied, though he tried to talk Chris out of it, insisting he would be fine with not telling any of his friends, or never holding hands in public, or hell, even talking in public, all the while watching Chris deny he was in a relationship to the world.

“I’m just really sorry,” Chris said again. Adrian nodded.

~..~

JC packed him for Europe while Chris laid around, staring at the ceiling. “Stop folding my underwear,” Chris said at one point, but other than that, he didn’t talk. He was still in breakup mode, though he’d never really been dating Adrian in the first place. But it felt like it, because he wasn’t having sex anymore and he kind of missed having someone to watch the game with.

“You are so melodramatic,” JC finally said, shaking his head.

“C, I appreciate the concerned insult, but I’m not really up for it,” Chris muttered, tugging a pillow over his face. Maybe, if he was lucky and JC was frustrated enough, Chris would get smothered by it and put out of his misery. There was a reason he never tried to date: it fucking sucked the life right out of him.

~..~

With old habits hard to break, Chris fucked everything that moved once they hit England. It was too much, the sexy accent and the scrappy handsomeness of young Britons. And he did it all behind JC’s back, since he wouldn’t approve of Chris’s need for enthusiastic bottoms and one night stands. It was easier, too, since not everyone recognised him in England. He wasn’t, after all, a member of Westlife. Chris had never been so happy for anonymity.

At one point, he found himself in a leather club, but he was into that, too. Wore his tightest leather pants and the vest the other guys hated, saying that if he wore it in public, they would never speak to him again. And the wristbands, which were silver-studded and just plain cool. The guy he took home, who said his name was Angel and didn’t even blink when Chris claimed to be Damon, came complete with handcuffs and a love for being spanked. Chris was more than happy to oblige.

~..~

“Chris,” JC said one bright and shining morning, and slapped down the Sun. Chris looked at it then looked at JC then looked back at it. “Do you want me to read it? Because I can. They even called you by the right name, Chris.” JC sat down at the table. “Chris, seriously. These gay growing pains of yours, they’re years too late.”

“I warned everyone I was having a lot of sex during the Hiatus,” Chris muttered and put his coffee down to read the article. It wasn’t very flattering. It made reference to his dick, which was miscast as small and inadequate, when it was a fantastic penis of wonder and joy. Chris was horribly offended, and a little bit scared, too.

“You’re getting sloppy, Chris,” JC said. “Really damn lazy.”

“Shut up.” Chris put his forehead down on the magazine, hating how JC was looking at him. “Whatever happened to the decent guys who wouldn’t sell you out for money?” Chris closed his eyes tightly, rolling his head over the table. “They must’ve existed at some point. I don’t know how you get so lucky, C.”

“I don’t have sex, man,” JC replied simply.

Chris glanced up at him. “Bullshit.”

JC lifted an eyebrow. “No? Well, if you’re so up on my sex life, tell me the last guy I slept with.” JC could be a mean son of a bitch when he needed to prove a point, and Chris wracked his brain trying to remember who it was before shrugging helplessly. “Chris, man. If you need help controlling these urges – ”

“What, you’ll send me off to a camp and I’ll come back straight? Sorry, C, doesn’t really work that way.”

JC smirked. “No, I know. But I have books. About self-love. Or you could lower yourself and sleep with women.” The sarcasm was thick and syrupy, and Chris bitterly regretted all the exposure JC had to Lance. “Or you could settle down and stop with the one night stands.”

Chris groaned, lifting up off the table and slapping a hand to his forehead. “You sound like Dani and Michelle, man. You turning into a dyke, too? Because seriously, C, I can’t handle three of you. Those two are way too much for me. God. No, I’m fine on my own.”

“Then you can sleep with me,” JC said, and Chris knocked his hot coffee all over his own hands and thighs, howling in sudden panic. It was a fury of motion as they tumbled to the small sink in the kitchenette, JC splashing him with cool water and drenching him and the floor.

“You are not allowed to say shit like that, C,” Chris said, gritting his teeth as the burning pain started to hit. He wriggled his pants off his hips, and his thighs were an angry red, blotchy and gross. “And fucking ow. God dammit. Fucking fuck ow, fuck. Fuck”

~..~

While Chris was laid up on the bed, ignoring JC as he spread Polysporin all over Chris’s legs and left hand, he talked to Johnny on the phone. Who screamed at him until Chris was falling over himself, apologising for ever being born. JC was gracious enough not to look at Chris while this was all going on. Chris appreciated it.

Johnny rattled off reasons why Chris needed to at least pretend to be discreet. And that if he got sold out one more time, bringing the total up to three in so many weeks, people were going to start believing it was true.

“It is true!” He wailed, and had to fight his arm from battering his skull with the telephone receiver. But Johnny didn’t care how true any of it was, since right now, nobody believed it. Chris felt like he’d failed as a gay man, because he was obviously queer, but supposedly, him tooting his own horn about how he was the most heterosexual dude ever birthed was actually believable to the general public. “It’s not my fault they’re idiots,” Chris protested.

Johnny demanded JC, and JC talked to him too quietly for Chris to eavesdrop from all the way across the room. Instead, he covered his hands with ointment before he tried to chew them off at the wrists, pausing once to swallow two more aspirin.

~..~

Every little thing I do
Never seems enough for you
You don’t wanna lost it again
But I’m not like them
Baby, when you finally
Get to love somebody
Guess what?
It’s gonna be me

~..~

Johnny FedExed an envelope of pamphlets to the hotel right before they started moving into the other European countries, set tomorrow to return to the place of their birth: Germany. When he shook out the contents of the package onto the bed, Chris looked at them in horror then picked up the nearest one. “So you think you’re a sex addict,” he read aloud, and JC looked over. Chris picked up another. “The real truth about sex addiction.”

JC smiled into his hand.

“Oh, fuck you, C,” Chris muttered and picked up a few more. “The ugly truth of sex addiction, overcoming sex addiction, sex addicts unite: the way to celibacy.” Chris opened that one and read a bit before crumpling it up in disgust. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m not a sex addict, C. Did you tell Johnny that?”

“No, he came to that conclusion on his own,” JC said and picked up one of the pamphlets, reading it as he fiddled with his glasses. “There’s a test in this one. I don’t know, Chris. Your reckless disregard for friends may or may not be misconstrued as compulsion.”

“Hey, hey, whoa, there, Nelly, back that horse fucking up.” Chris picked up the flyers and flapped them around. “This, man, is not my problem. My problem is I spend ninety-nine percent of my life keeping it in my pants when Justin and Lance, who slut around just as much as me but spread it over periods of time, can screw whoever they like.”

“Hi, hello. Chris? I’m in the same boat, man,” JC said. “And I already offered.”

“Dude, dude, remember that rule? The no sleeping with each other ever rule?” JC nodded, and Chris mirrored it, lifting his eyebrows. “Exactly. I have a certain type, C. A certain way you gotta be. I’ll just stifle you. You’re a beautiful flower –”

JC rolled his eyes. “Hardly, Chris. And your type. Ha. All right, your type, as far as I can tell, is a guy who really loves to bottom. I happen to really love bottoming. I’m,” JC snapped his fingers, hunting for the word, “enthusiastic. You solve my problem; I solve yours.”

“What happened to all your books on self-love and celibacy?”

“You’re not the only one who’s desperate, Chris.”

~..~

Having sex with JC was beyond weird. They tried it twice before it actually worked, since the first time, they’d stripped down and Chris couldn’t get it up. He was so mortified that he refused to go near JC for an entire day, blushing fierce red whenever JC even entered the same room for the next week, at least.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” JC explained the second time. He’d cornered Chris in Sweden, sitting naked on Chris’s bed as Chris came out of the bathroom, buffing a towel across his groin. “I’m going to turn on porn, you’re going to forget your issues with having sex with someone you can’t escape, and I’m going to lie there, wiggle my ass and enjoy it.”

“I, um. Okay,” Chris said meekly. He knew, if he fucked this up, Johnny was going to make sure he would never sleep with anyone again, at least not any one Chris picked out, and Chris had seen some of the guys Johnny tried to hook JC up with. Safe guys; safe, boring, loser guys. Chris needed excitement, and somehow, JC was going to have to be it.

~..~

JC was, to say the least, very enthusiastic. And desperate, which Chris only recognised because he knew it so well. And tight, and hot, and Chris couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t ever fucked JC before. Except for the rule thing, which was unfortunate, but it was in place for a reason, which seemed to be out the door now. But enthusiasm: very high. It wasn’t long before Chris stopped paying attention to the tv and started focussing entirely on JC.

Chris usually wasn’t one for stretching the foreplay out. Maybe, he kissed, if the guy’s teeth were straight and he had good breath, and he could usually be persuaded to let someone suck his dick, but mostly, he liked to press the guy down and get into it. However, JC’s cock, long and slim and crooked to the left, demanded to have a mouth on it.

“Oh, wow,” JC said and spread his legs, pushing his hips up. So Chris blew him, which was more than he’d done for every guy in recent times, except for Adrian. Then, after, he touched all over JC until he was hard again and begging. Gathering JC’s wrists in his hand, Chris pressed them up over JC’s head, into the pillows, and helped JC hook his legs around Chris’s waist, slapping on a condom and some lube, and fucked him. And fucked him. And fucked him, until they both came, loud and crazy and hard.

~..~

Chris lived in mortal fear that the sex would stop once they returned to the states, because they didn’t really talk about the terms of the agreement. But the first night back, JC showed up with dinner in one hand, condoms and lube in the other. Chris kissed him on the mouth then let him in. These days, Chris’s house was so empty and cold. He appreciated JC’s presence more than he wanted to admit, even if he tried to feed Chris healthy shit.

“What are you doing?” JC finally asked after Chris had unfolded his paper towel and wrapped it around the strange meat-like substance that JC claimed wasn’t meat at all, only looked that way. Chris gave it a good squeeze then unrolled it.

“The grease test. And this test tells me that whatever you’re trying to feed me is not going to clog my arteries and, as a result, not taste very good. Freak,” Chris added, because he also had a salad in front of him, complete with what Chris suspected was low-fat dressing. There were carrot and celery bits mixed in with the romaine lettuce, and cucumbers, and tomatoes. Chris was going to die from eating it, he was sure.

“I just don’t want your heart to give out mid-fucking,” JC said, and he said it so dryly that Chris just nodded at first then spluttered, grinning as he tried to grab JC before he merrily danced away, laughing. He only came back when it was safe, and Chris had his hands up in surrender. JC smiled. “Just eat it, Chris. It won’t kill you. It’s good. Crunchy.”

“The things I do for you, C,” Chris said, but ate it anyway. Later, when JC was spread on his belly and squirming back, muttering, “fuck me, fuck me,” over and over again, Chris decided he was just going to do whatever JC wanted from now on. Even if it meant eating vegetables.

~..~

The nefarious plan was revealed way too soon to Dani and Michelle, who came over with a casserole to welcome Chris back to America. They let themselves in, heated up lunch then came upstairs to wake Chris, who was, unfortunately, lying with a very sated JC sprawled next to him, blankets tossed to the ground, pillows gone. Chris was petting his own dick, congratulating it for a job well done and, hopefully, trying to coax it into round two.

“Christopher Kirkpatrick!” Michelle exclaimed as Dani clapped happily.

“It is so not what it looks like,” Chris said, propelling himself out of bed and grabbing for his shorts. JC tugged a sheet around his waist and sat up, the helpless look of lazy comfort still on his face. Chris wanted to flick it off, or fuck him again. “We’re just doing this to, like, keep me from screwing everything that moves and to help JC actually get some.”

“Okay, honey,” Dani said. “We made lunch. If you’re hungry.”

Chris’s stomach rumbled. He had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Okay. Sure.”

They walked out of the room, whispering to each other, and JC watched them. When they were gone, he turned to Chris, and lifted an eyebrow. Chris sighed. “I feel like I need to confess those two pretty much keep me alive. They’ll be here a lot. I annoy them, they bring me food, but fuck, I set them up in the first place. They owe it to me.”

~..~

Dani cornered him when Michelle and JC went out to look at the flowers she’d planted in Chris’s backyard, trying to brighten up his grim life. There were times when Chris was tempted just to give them the damn house. They lived a few blocks away, in a small apartment, but seemed to like his place better. Dani knew all his hiding spots.

“JC,” Dani said.

“Just fucking,” Chris said. He was getting snappy, he knew, but there was literally nothing worse in the world than an ex-beard meddling in his affairs. Or two of them, especially two that were dating each other and in a happy committed relationship and everything that he wasn’t. “And it’s good, because C’s not going to rat me out to tabloids.”

“Oh, honey, I read about that. You do need to be more careful,” Dani said and touched a gentle hand to his face. Chris scowled. He liked women, he did; his entire family was women, his two best friends outside the group were women, he loved women, but they pissed the ever loving fuck out of him, and that was why he had never dated one seriously and didn’t plan on it. Plus, they lacked dicks, which was the big part but also, very meddling. “Chris, honey. You know we’re just looking out for you.”

“I can look out for myself,” Chris muttered.

“Sure you can, honey.”

~..~

When Joey finally wandered back to Orlando, he came over for dinner with a bottle of wine and an autograph for JC from some actor he admired. JC thanked him profusely before letting him in the door. Joey had loads of exciting stories to tell them about all of his movies and Brianna, who was walking like crazy now, and Kelly, who was currently ticked at him for forgetting her birthday.

“I remembered by noon,” Joey said, rolling his eyes. “She knows I’m bad with dates, but whatever. Women, man.” Joey looked at both of them then laughed. “Well, I guess you guys wouldn’t know anything about that. Oh, man. Lemme tell you, though. Lucky.”

“I have two lesbians meddling in my affairs,” Chris said.

“Bobbie slashed my tires last week, just for fun,” JC added.

They’d been over the Bobbie-thing, once, when JC complained that Chris had better, less psychotic beards than him. It was an easy to explain phenomenon. Chris’s beards were gay women who agreed to date him publically in order to further boost themselves in their own lives while helping him, and the group, put forth a picture of heterosexuality. JC’s beards were straight women that didn’t know they were beards until JC accidentally let it slip or simply grew tired of pretending and came up with the stupidest reasons why they couldn’t date any more. By this time, the women were pretty much in love with him, because he was, despite his obvious stupidity when it came to them, polite and gracious and exactly the type of man that chicks loved to bring home to their mothers.

Joey glanced between them “You guys are fucking, aren’t you?”

“How in god’s name did you get that from that?” Chris cried. Joey had a freaky mind-reading thing going on, which always pissed Chris off because Joey knew everything. It was even worse when he just shrugged and said, “I dunno. I just got a sense,” like he really didn’t understand where it all came from. Joey was a loser freak.

“We’ve compromised,” JC said, shrugging. “It works.”

Joey glared at Chris. “But what about –”

“Don’t say it,” Chris warned.

“But after –”

“Joe,” Chris said. “Don’t.”

“But –”

“It works,” JC said.

~..~

Chris knew JC was pretty kinky. More than pretty kinky: really fucking kinky. The biting was the tip of the iceberg, but Chris didn’t know how freely giving he was with that, so he didn’t even try until JC grabbed him by the back of his head and said, “use your teeth,” before offering the smooth line of his neck.

Then there were the silk ties, all a deep dark maroon, which Chris looped around his wrists and ankles with shaking hands, barely able to tear himself away from the taste of JC’s skin under his tongue to tie him up. Once JC was spread out and willing, though, Chris teased him until JC was keening desperately, begging practically, so open and willing that Chris came seconds after sliding inside. He sucked JC off instead, fingers deep in JC’s body.

But oddly, the sexiest sex seemed to come when Chris least expected it. When JC climbed on his lap during the baseball game, tugged down his pants and squatted on him right there, facing the television. Those times, Chris wasn’t sure what to watch, the chance of a grand slam or the shift of JC’s muscles over his back. Mostly, Chris ended up holding him by the hips as JC screwed onto him, panting and groaning and digging his nails into Chris’s knees. And other times, when Chris would be making dinner, struggling with the healthy eating cookbook, and JC would bend himself over the counter, present his pert ass, and they’d be fucking hard in seconds, dinner waiting beside them. Or the one time they did it in the bathroom at a public function, people milling through the halls and them inside, trying hard not to scream, JC’s pants down by his ankles, Chris driving deep into him.

~..~

“JC’s nice,” Michelle said the next time she came over, sans Dani.

“C, by his very genetic makeup, is nice. However, I know what you’re implying, and no,” Chris said, poking around at his engine again. It was making odd sounds, and his high school auto classes weren’t helping him figure out the problem. He knew if he let Michelle near it, she’d fix it right away, which was why, whenever she got close, he blocked her view. “Peer pressuring me into dating someone so high risk is just bound to blow up in your face. Tell Dani that, will you? You’re both annoying the piss out of me.”

“But Chris’s, he’s a sweetheart,” Michelle tried again, peering over his shoulder.

“No,” Chris said. “No way. And fucking stop trying to fix my car, all right? I’m not going to have a chick fix my car. I know what’s wrong. I’m a man. These things are in my blood.” Chris banged on something big and metal with his wrench. “See, look. It’s fine.”

“God, you’re such a bitch, Chris,” Michelle said, smacking him over the head with the back of her hand then tugging him away by the collar, snatching the wrench. Chris contemplated drinking the motor oil in the corner. This wasn’t going to be pretty. Michelle disappeared under the hood. “I don’t see what’s wrong with JC. He likes you; you like him. Isn’t that enough, or is there some element to relationships that I’m missing?”

Chris grumbled as Michelle tinkered around. “No, you’ve got the basic principles down, but fuck. There are reasons, all right? We’re bending the rules, not breaking them. We’re just waiting together, until I learn how to fuck in secrecy and C finds a boyfriend. Just waiting. It’s, like. Hell, it’s practically masturbation.”

“You’re talking out your ass, Chris,” Michelle said.

“Probably,” Chris agreed.

~..~

Chris liked JC best right after the sex, when he stretched and smiled goofily and just looked generally pleased with himself. He didn’t cuddle – thank fucking god – but he liked to stay close, and Chris didn’t mind, really. Sometimes, an instinct in him flared up and he was tempted to try and kick JC out of bed, but mostly, Chris let him stay.

“Kirkpatrick residence,” JC said when the phone rang, picking it up before Chris could get to it. Chris gritted his teeth. If JC was going to pick up, the rule was he wasn’t supposed to be a dork about it, but Karen had raised JC to be compulsively polite and well behaved. “Hey, Justin. No, Chris and I sleeping together. Yes, having sex. No, it’s good. Ha. No, I’m still looking.”

“He’s my best friend, C, don’t hog him,” Chris said, snatching the phone out of JC’s hand, and JC got up, heading for the washroom. Chris watched his ass and had an sudden urge to lick it. It was so small and tight. “Hey, J. What’s up?”

“I thought there was a rule,” Justin said. He sounded slightly accusatory.

“We bent it. It’s either this, man, or I either get put into therapy for sex addiction and destroy the group. I had a slight problem with the tabloids,” Chris said. He was getting a bit tired of having to justify himself, when it was JC’s decision to start with. “It’s good, okay? No hearts are tied up, nothing messy is gonna happen. It’s just fucking.”

Justin hummed before saying, “all right. If you promise not to, like. Don’t wreck us, Chris. Okay? And especially not C, because he’s. Hm. He’s, like, a good guy. And you know.” Justin must have heard Chris’s teeth grinding because he added, “of course you know. I trust you, Chris. I hope he’s everything a fuck buddy is meant to be.”

“He’s fantastic,” Chris assured him, shivering as JC walked by and ran a hand over the back of his neck. He leaned over Chris’s shoulder, and Chris could feel JC’s cock, hot and hard, tucked in the small of Chris’s back. “Um, J. I think I’m gonna go. C and I, um. Things to do.”

“Bye, Justin,” JC said and hung up before Justin even had a chance to say goodbye.

~..~

It seemed, in return for all the sex, Chris was expected to humour JC and his ideas. It was mostly harmless, though Chris could have listed a thousand things he would rather do than make his own pasta, but JC seemed determined to try it. The flour was making Chris sneeze.

“At least cover your mouth,” JC said, hands deep in a bowl as he mixed, covered head to toe in flour, eggs and everything else he had touched in the last half an hour. It was even in his hair, and Chris couldn’t begin to guess how it got there. “You’re spitting all over everything.”

“Like you haven’t had my spit all over you already,” Chris said, rolling the rolling pin over a mound of pasta dough, flouring the wood with an idle hand before getting it up his nose again, sneezing four times in succession before wiping his face on his shoulder.

“I invited Dani and Michelle over for dinner,” JC said simply.

“Motherfucker.”

~..~

Chris tried not to look at them, Dani and Michelle. It was grotesque, really, the way they snuggled, and kissed, and honestly seemed to be in love. They never acted like that, like girlfriends, around him, but somehow, with JC in the house, it was suddenly okay. All those public displays of affection. It was like watching a car wreck. Impossible to turn away.

“He is so charming,” Dani said to Chris as JC explained how they’d spent the day making the pasta, and all the fancy ingredients, and how the oregano was grown by JC himself in a little pot by his kitchen window. Michelle nodded then they exchanged recipes. Chris stabbed at his pasta and ate quietly. JC was stealing his lesbians. Well, JC could have them, if they loved him so much. Fucking JC. He was so infuriatingly likeable. Chris didn’t even want to think about it.

JC sided with Dani and Michelle when it came time to pick out a movie, going for the feel good movie about twenty-somethings – an age group to which Chris no longer belonged and all three of them knew it – instead of Chris’s choice, something bloody and loud and violent. He simmered angrily on the couch, watching out of the corner of his eye as Dani settled between Michelle’s legs, leaning back for a kiss. JC plopped down beside him.

“I’ll watch something manly with you tomorrow. They’re the guests,” he whispered and grinned, bumping Chris with his shoulder. Chris twisted up his face and knew he was supposed to smile, but JC was already looking away, trying to snatch the bowl of popcorn from Dani. The line of his neck was tanned and smooth, and Chris thought about putting his thumb against it, just for a second.

~..~

“I’m beginning to think you’re the sex addict, C,” Chris said after round two of mid-afternoon fucking. They’d planned on swimming for a few hours, but one look at JC in a bathing suit and Chris had ended up screwing him against the wall. The second time, they’d actually been in the pool, which Chris thought was a big step towards swimming, before JC started pushing his ass at Chris’s cock and saying, “come on, man. You’re ready to go again. Pool house.”

But that wasn’t even the sex addiction part. Chris was starting to realise JC had put condoms and lube in all areas of the house for easy access, which included the small pine shack at the corner of the patio. It was turning into a game of Where’s Waldo, and Chris couldn’t even remember when JC had started doing it, just that it made things much easier and, yay for them, resulted in even more spontaneous sex.

JC smelled like chlorine, the taste of it all over his skin and clinging to his hair, but Chris didn’t really mind. They just spooned on the small bed, Chris pulling JC’s leg back over his hip and holding it, and fucked him until the entire room was hot and steamy, and they were, too.

~..~

“Shit,” Chris said one morning, “I’m getting fat. Fatter. Something, but shit. C.”

JC sat up in bed, and blinked at him. Chris was standing in front of the mirror, yanking at his underwear. The elastic dug deeply into his stomach, and the cotton fabric was pulled up into the crack of his ass, white cheeks of flesh squeezing out from under the rear of the briefs.

“Look at this,” Chris said and tugged on the waistband. “God, I can barely breathe. How the hell did I gain so much weight? You’ve been fucking feeding me bird food, and all the fucking sex. God, I’m doing more than I ever have in my life towards a healthy lifestyle, and I’m fucking splitting the seams. Kill me now, C.”

“You should probably take them off –” JC said.

“And go without underwear for the rest of my life? Brilliant plan, Einstein.”

“– they’re one of mine.”

~..~

It didn’t dawn on him until around lunch time, when Chris was trying to make grilled fake-cheese for JC since they were his favourite, even if he insisted on weird ass tofu cheese slices which weren’t really cheese at all. JC was watching television, some heavily edited version of Jaws on TBS when Chris owned all of the Jaws movies on DVD. Chris didn’t ask, since he knew the allure of TBS. But he did ask about this:

“Hey, C. What was your underwear doing in my underwear drawer?”

JC looked up from the couch, stretching his arms over his head then accepting the plate of grilled cheese thankfully. “I keep a couple changes of clothes here, in with your stuff. Saves me the hassle of having to go back and forth. And hey, Chris this is really good.” JC munched on the sandwich happily. “Even tastes like real cheese. Thanks, man.”

“No problem, C,” Chris said and retreated to the kitchen, where he freaked out, because, whoa. When had JC moved in? And why had nobody told him?

~..~

Another weird thing about JC was that he looked really good in pants typically worn by baseball players. Chris wouldn’t have known that, except they had agreed to attend a charity baseball game together, and they each got their own uniform. Chris almost didn’t wear it, despite the fact he had to, because his legs, which he knew were bow-legged, were suddenly obviously so. But JC walked by, adjusting his cup, and Chris forget all about his own malformation and focussed on JC’s perfection instead.

They were on the same team, which made Chris laugh, if only to himself. JC was surprisingly good, and everybody seemed to adore him, even the really professional players who congratulated him on his swing. Chris got walked twice and hit a single to left field, which wasn’t bad considering JC was always up after him and kept pumping out homers, but still. Everyone loved JC, and JC seemed to love them back, especially the tall blond guy who played for the Mariners or the Red Sox or something and wouldn’t leave him alone.

It took Chris until the after-party to realise he was jealous. Not only of JC, who Chris was used to being jealous of, but of the baseball dude, who was getting honest smiles and boisterous laughs out of JC. All Chris ever seemed to get were looks of complete exasperation. And Chris was jealous. “Fuck,” Chris said and went to get another drink.

~..~

Back at the hotel, Chris watched television. Finally too drunk to handle the festivities, he’d gotten himself a cab and returned to the hotel. Hopefully, JC wouldn’t try to bring the beautiful baseball player back because, all though they’d originally planned on sharing a room, the one next door was also booked and the walls were very, very thin. Maybe Chris could convince the room service guy that a quick fuck was in order. That would be fun, for both of them.

But Chris didn’t really feel like putting that much effort into it. JC was just always there and willing, even when he was being pushy about it, which Chris never really minded. Chris sighed. He’d probably just end up jerking himself off then going to bed, hopefully not to be waken by JC, who was pretty loud in the sack.

Chris woke up to JC crawling up the bed, tugging the sheet away from Chris’s body and leaning over to kiss him. “Old man, can’t stay up past nine anymore,” JC said and licked Chris’s cheek. “Those tight pants, man. They really turned me on. I was gonna suggest a quickie in the bathroom, but you left. Idiot.” JC cuffed him upside the head.

“Where’s the blond guy?” Chris asked.

“Sorry, man, no threesome tonight. Besides, he has a boyfriend, who loves us and especially you. I promised I’d mail him your autograph, since you fucked off so early. Mm,” JC said, sliding back down Chris’s stomach to mouth his cock, which was so confused that it was still soft, even with a naked JC squirming over it. “I really must not be your type, Chris. Your dick is scared of me,” JC said and though he was smiling, Chris could see something darker in his eyes.

Chris didn’t want to tell him that he was exactly Chris’s type.

~..~

They were used to keeping track of Lance via the media, because nobody could figure out what time it was in Russia, and when they did call, Lance never picked up, but he sent emails every few days. It wasn’t until the fourth time that JC read Lance’s greeting out loud that Chris noticed Lance had been addressing one email to the both of them. The stink of peer pressure was all around him, and Chris couldn’t understand why nobody realised this wasn’t going to turn into some wonderfully loving relationship. Chris didn’t do that any more, even when he wanted to.

~..~

But when JC had his piano shipped over, Chris knew he wasn’t leaving, at least not of his own free will. Chris had dropped hints that, maybe, he should go and find a real boyfriend, but JC ignored him. Supposedly, there was a perfect space in the family room, right by the big bay window, and JC didn’t let the movers leave until it was in precisely the right place. Chris sat in the backyard and drank a beer, listening to them move it around. He just hoped they wouldn’t scrape up his hardwood floors.

When he came back inside, the movers were gone and JC was tinkering at the keys, playing random melodies that were kind of soothing, all things considered. Chris could feel the panic all over him, but he couldn’t bring himself to really ask JC to leave, and JC was too stubborn to go, anyway. Instead, he sat in the big easy chair and listened to JC play.

Later, JC sidled up to him, shimmied his hips and climbed onto Chris’s lap, kissing his mouth. Chris let JC take off his shirt, his nimble fingers dancing over Chris’s chest, then lifted his hips so JC could tug off his pants. JC wiggled out of his own clothes then climbed back on, reaching into the magazine basket and pulling out a rubber and a small thing of lube. JC was such a fucking boy scout. Chris appreciated it.

~..~

Dani and Michelle were a bad influence, that was the big problem. They hadn’t been coming over quite as often recently, but JC still liked to chat with them on the phone or invite them over for dinner. They were both trying to become vegetarians, which JC thought was fabulous and admitted he was experimenting with it, too. Chris couldn’t even remember the last time he ate meat under his own roof.

Dani and Michelle had this way about them, the two of them. Of looking at each other like they were the only ones in the world, pinkies hooked together. Sometimes, Chris caught JC watching them, a small sad look in his eyes, and Chris felt terrible, utterly and horribly terrible. He knew he was a bad person, JC knew he was a bad person, yet. Yet.

They ate something fancy and vegetable-laden for dinner then moved into the living room for some discussion and a movie. Dani and Michelle tangled on one end of the couch, and Chris sat on the other. When JC passed by, heading to the chair, Chris grabbed him by the waist and tugged him onto the couch, before he realised he shouldn’t have done it. But once JC was there, there was nothing else Chris could do but let him stay. When the movie started, Chris put his hand on JC’s bare stomach and kept it there.

~..~

Sometimes, JC woke Chris up for sex. It didn’t happen often. Usually, they slept through the night after some hard-core fucking then woke up and did it in bed, or in the kitchen, or in the bathroom. But sometimes, JC nudged at him until he woke up then kissed him while Chris was still sleepy and warm. He only really roused from sleep after they’d both came, and that period of consciousness would last for a few minutes before he conked out again. He was usually loopy for the entire thing, though. He admitted to JC that he really liked the feeling.

“Mm, Chris, wake up,” JC muttered, licking around his ear then moving to his mouth, and Chris opened for him, blinking into the dark. Chris had been having a pretty great dream, but the reality was pretty great, too. Totally great. Wonderfully great. JC squirmed against him. “God, Chris, you’re so hot. You know.” JC slithered down his body, licking, them moved back up. “Turn me on, man. So much.” JC stroked down his legs and mouthed at Chris’s inner thigh.

Chris hummed and nodded, still feeling fuzzy and slow, like this was all a dream, too. JC touched over his body, and Chris let him, rolling his head against the pillow. He didn’t really notice until JC was there, pushing at him with a slippery dick, trying to get inside. Chris tensed, suddenly painfully awake, and felt JC trail his fingers up and down Chris’s side, cooing in his ear, as a hand spread on Chris’s hip and lifted him up. There were two things Chris could do: one, push him away, hard, for going where he wasn’t supposed to be, or two, let him, because it was JC, and only because it was him.

So Chris let him stay.

~..~

You’ve got no choice, babe
But to move on, and you know
There ain’t no time to waste
Cause you’re just too blind to see
But in the end, you know it’s gonna be me
You can’t deny
So just tell me why

~..~

Chris woke up and cried. He didn’t mean to, and he didn’t even manage to make it out of the room before he started. JC looked at him, startled, and Chris wanted to die. Or say something funny, lighten it up, make fun of himself, but he just cried and wanted to die. Somewhere along the line, he’d lost it. His control, his power. It was all gone.

“What’s wrong?” JC asked then blanched. “Oh god. This is about last night. Oh shit, oh shit.” JC jumped out of bed, grabbing for something to wear, and Chris didn’t even bother to point out they were his clothes, not JC’s, as much as he could tell through the blur of tears, anyway. “I should have asked, Chris. I’m sorry. I thought you’d done that before. I’m such a jerk.”

“I have,” Chris said, swallowing. He could feel the sadness all over him, fighting to get out, but it honestly had nothing to do with JC, as far as he could tell. He was just the catalyst. “No, it’s not that. It’s.” Chris wiped his nose on his arm, leaving a thin film of snot. “Man, I can’t do this with you. Be your boyfriend. I can’t do that to you. I’m gonna wreck your life.”

JC widened his eyes. “Are you still hung up on that, Chris? For fuck’s sake, man.” JC snatched a handful of kleenex out of the box and handed it to Chris as he sat down next to him. “Chris, that was seven years ago. And I’m not Jason.”

“Don’t say his name,” Chris said, keeping his voice low. He blew his nose into the tissue.

“Jason, Chris. Jason, Jason, Jason. I’m tired of not talking about him. God, I thought you had, like, a top-complex or something, some residue of internalised homophobia. But it’s Jason?” JC was pulling at his hair, which meant he was pissed. “Chris, man. Really. You aren’t the touch of death, all right? I’m fine. Nothing terrible has happened to me.”

“We haven’t been going out long enough,” Chris said, dabbing at his eyes.

“We’ve been sleeping together for three months, Chris, but we’ve been friends for seven years, and I’m fine. My life is amazing, and it’s only improved since we started this. That rule? Stupid. A very stupid rule.” JC bowed his forehead to Chris’s, keeping a warm hand on Chris’s neck. “You’re being idiotic, Chris. Really. Idiotic and superstitious.”

“You’re gonna make me cry again,” Chris warned. His eyes were burning.

“Please do,” JC said. So he did.

~..~

Boyfriend. Chris looked at JC while he rinsed the dishes, loading them into the dishwasher, and thought, boyfriend. He’d spent the day pointing at JC and saying, “boyfriend,” to which JC sagely nodded. Still, his jaw locked up in panic whenever he thought about it. Chris really, really didn’t do boyfriends, and had forgotten how, anyway. There had to be more to it than the incredible sex.

“You’re not mad about last night?” JC asked when he noticed Chris watching. “Because I didn’t ask, and I should have. I mean, I just thought. You know how, like, in order to be a good top, you need to know how to bottom? I didn’t realise you were militant, I guess.”

Boyfriend, Chris thought then shook his head. “I just. um. Haven’t since. him,” Chris explained, keeping his arms tightly crossed over his chest. “It’s, no. I like it, and stuff, and I used to be pretty much exclusive that way, but. I don’t know. It’s fine. If you want to do it again.” Chris let the offer linger, and JC nodded, reaching out. Chris moved closer, slowly at first, but JC got his finger tangled in Chris’s belt loop and yanked him in fast.

“Kiss me,” JC said, “without it leading to sex.” He presented his mouth, and Chris lowered his, brushing a tongue over JC’s lips before slicking it inside and over his teeth. JC slapped his thigh and smiled. “Just keep doing that, and this will be fine. I promise.”

~..~

But it wasn’t fine. Chris couldn’t stop himself from acting weird, or scared, or like a raging psychopath. The next time JC tried to top him, Chris rolled over and left the bed, and they didn’t have sex again for a week until JC squeezed up to him under the sheets, nibbled on his ears then wrapped his legs around Chris’s waist, pulling him in deep. Chris let JC fuck him the next morning, anyway, and Chris even came first.

JC didn’t seem angry, either, which was the kicker. He still smiled, and wrote his weird ass songs, and cautiously sat with Chris when there were sports on, napping with his head in Chris’s lap. They made vegetable lasagna, which didn’t taste nearly as much like ass as Chris feared, and tried every available type of veggie burger until Chris swore them all off, going the red meat route for the first time in a month. He was shitting all evening, and JC kissed him on the forehead while he perched on the can, and laughed at him.

~..~

“Get in the car,” JC said one morning, rooting through the drawers, looking for clean underwear. Chris looked at the pair in his hand and sighed, hooking it over JC’s head. It was his, anyway. Chris found a pair of boxers and slid into them, checking through the stack of folded jeans on the chair. Before they left, JC kissed him on the lips with a minty-fresh mouth then pushed Chris outside.

“Where are we going?” Chris finally asked once they were on the road.

“Miami. Hopefully, if my theory is correct, this will stop the sudden downswing you’re on, and we can live happily ever after. Because I am not telling my mom about you until I’m convinced you’re not going to break up with me,” JC said, and before Chris could say anything, pumped the radio up until it was blaring, effectively drowning Chris out anyway.

They pulled up to an apartment complex, and JC waited around at the front door, looking through his pockets for the lost imaginary key before someone opened it for him. Chris watched as JC thanked the lady profusely and said things like, “oh golly, I hope my girlfriend’s home,” and, “beautiful day, isn’t it, ma’am?” Chris rolled his eyes, but it got them inside.

“You’re not bringing me to one of your weirdo spiritualists, are you?” Chris asked as they rode up in the elevator, JC holding a piece of paper with the numbers 1305 written on it. JC shook his head then leaned over to kiss Chris’s temple. “Um. Okay. I trust you, but, like, this isn’t the part of the relationship where you have me killed for being a pain in the ass, is it?”

“Chris, no,” JC said and laughed, grinning against his cheek. “This is the part of the relationship where I try to fix you and hope to hell it works.”

~..~

JC pinched Chris on his love handles when he tried to run away, and if JC’s foot hadn’t been in the door, Chris was sure Jason would have slammed it. As it was, they stared at each other until JC said, “hey, Jason. Long time no see. Can we come in? We were in the neighbourhood.”

“How did you get my address?” Jason asked, staring at Chris.

“Your mom,” JC said and pushed Chris inside, fingers dug hard into Chris’s fat. Chris tried to push back, but when JC was determined, there was no stopping him. “Hey, fancy digs, man. What are you doing with your life these days?”

“I’m married,” Jason replied unsteadily and pointed to a picture of a pretty woman smiling, arms wrapped around a golden retriever. Chris looked at it. She didn’t look like she was really a man, which meant she probably wasn’t. “I, um. I’m in between jobs. Hey, I never did say congratulations for the, um. The Nsync thing.”

JC nodded, shoving Chris further into the apartment. It was sparsely decorated but quaint. It was obvious Jason wasn’t living in poverty, and Chris exhaled a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding. JC kept talking. “Yeah, thanks. Who knew it was going to get so big?”

“Not me,” Jason said.

~..~

They stayed just long enough to get on Jason’s nerves. Well, for JC to get on his nerves. Chris was too busy studying the apartment, and Jason’s face whenever he talked about his life and how he felt he made the right decisions in his life. How he was just so fucking happy with his perfect wife that he could explode with joy.

“I thought you were gay,” Chris blurted out. They’d met at Universal Studios, when Chris was twenty-two and just, finally, starting to come out to people, though his mom had known since he was sixteen and acting out, for all of the three weeks that lasted until she told him to stop it and tell her what was wrong. Jason had been his first, and last, boyfriend, but thankfully not the first guy Chris slept with. It was bad enough Jason had any of Chris’s firsts to begin with.

“You thought wrong,” Jason said and smiled. Chris wanted to punch him in the teeth.

~..~

By the time they were on the road again, Chris was still steaming, crouched down low in the seat and fuming mad. He didn’t know why it was such a personal affront to find out Jason was suddenly straight, just that it pissed him the fuck off.

“I never liked him,” JC said when they pulled over for gas, waiting as the attendant filled the tank up. “None of us liked him, Chris. We tolerated him, because we assumed he was your boyfriend, but we were in it for you, not for him. When he left, we were all very relived, and we got Lance. Jason was, and still is, a jerk.”

Chris nodded, but didn’t say anything. He could feel it. He was going to cry again. There was literally nothing more humiliating than crying in front of somebody, even JC. It was almost as bad as the time he started crying onstage, even though JC was only one person.

“He’s fine, Chris. He’s living his life, and you’re living yours. I firmly believe, had you guys not broken up and he left, which was for completely different reasons, I wouldn’t be living this life. I’m sorry I took you here, but I. Hey, look at me.” Chris crooked his head, and JC touched his face with soft fingers. “I really want to be with you, Chris.”

“Me too,” Chris admitted, sniffling loudly. “I’m sorry I’m such a freak.”

“It’s okay,” JC said. “I’m used to it.”

~..~

“Something’s changed,” Dani said the next time she was over, tapping a finger against her chin. She was sitting on the back porch, watching Michelle in the pool, playing a game of one-on-one volleyball with JC. Chris sipped his drink and shrugged. “No, really. You and JC. You’re.”

“Together. For real,” Chris said, watching JC as he jumped up, belly taut and tight. He was wearing the itty bitty black shorts, and if the chicks weren’t there, they’d be tangled up and fucking in the pool house, maybe even with Chris on the bottom. JC caught him looking and waved, a huge grin plastered on his face. Chris waved his fingers. “You can really tell?”

“I know you, honey. Plus, you’re not nearly as big a prick these days, figuratively speaking of course. I’m sure it’s as big as ever.” Dani grinned, and Chris smiled back, shaking his head. She punched him in the arm then slid her glasses down her nose as Michelle sauntered over. “Hey, baby, looking good.”

“You just like girls in bikinis,” Michelle replied, dripping on the patio as she buffed herself dry. JC just shook his hair then sat between Chris’s spread legs on the recliner, soaking Chris’s shorts, but Chris didn’t mind. He liked having him there. It was comfortable. Michelle sat down with Dani. “JC tells me you’re madly and desperately in love.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Chris said and grinned at the sun.

“I would,” JC replied, wiggling back then elbowing Chris in the stomach. “Don’t listen to him. I’m in control of this whole relationship, have been from the beginning. I’m a mastermind.” JC leaned back and lifted his face. Chris kissed him on the lips, then thumped him lightly on top of the head. “I think we sang a song about this once.”

“We sing songs about everything,” Chris said, “but probably.”

~..~

There comes a day
When I’ll be the one
You’ll see
It’s gonna ...
It’s gonna be me