Chris loved it when Joey wanted to go clubbing with him. He'd usually mention it while they were eating. "Chris. Me and you. Tonight." Chris would blink and for a minute he'd be oddly hopeful, until Joey started spouting out details of clubs and times.

He'd sing 'Nothin' But A Good Time' by Poison in the shower, wailing out the part about "They say I spend my money on women and wine, But I couldn't tell you where I spent last night." He always substituted 'Joey' for 'women' and laughed a little.

Chris always asked JC to pick out his clothes, before discarding all of his choices and putting the same old black leather pants and tight dark shirts on. He'd wait for Joey, sipping on a beer and sometimes smoking a cigarette if he could cadge one off of one of their bodyguards.

He thought, sometimes, that the anticipation was the best part of the night. When Joey came by to tell him it was time to leave, he'd feel like he was perched on top of the world. He always felt funny and witty on the way out, and they'd giggle like girls the whole way to whatever divey club Joey picked as the flavour of the night.

The club always seemed promising when they walked in, and grabbed beers and whatever table or booth they could snag. Joey would tilt in and whisper things in his ear, the brush of his lips and the puff of his breath raising goosebumps on Chris's arms.

Then a song would come on, or Joey would get drunk and suddenly he'd be gone. Chris liked to watch him at first, when he was all predatory and looked sleeker than he really should. It was always fun until he zeroed in on one girl. Then Chris would see Joey's hands snake around the curve of her waist and he'd watch, coldly, dispassionately until it seemed pointless.

Sometimes he'd dance and pretend, other times he'd just leave. Either way, he'd usually wind up alone in his hotel room, too late to wake the others up for company. If it was so quiet that he couldn't stand it, he'd wake JC up, but he'd seen the pity on his face too many times for that to be a palatable option.

Usually he just showered again, this time to scrub the stink of cigarettes and beer and disappointment off his body. He sang the Smiths then, if he could bring himself to sing at all. "So you go and you stand on your own, and you leave on your own and you cry and you want to die."

It struck him as melodramatic but true, and he thought sometimes, at 2:30 in the morning, when he was tired and half drunk, that maybe he should just say something to Joey. In the morning light, though, it never seemed quite right and he'd tell himself that the next time they went out things would be different.

~end~