JC leaves his reference books laying around, and sometimes it's fun to pick them up and flip until you find a word that could be useful. The last time you flipped through his dictionary, you thought that you felt "characterized by temporary or capricious ill humor, peevish". It's suddenly your new favourite word.

You're feeling petulant the day that you notice that the bruises on JC's wrists match Lance's fingers. You intend to mention it to Chris right after you drop your twenty five cent word.

"I'm petulant." You know your lips are twisting, pouting. It's easy, because when you drag your teeth across your lips and look at Chris a certain way, he always entertains you. Then you can stop feeling fuzzy and unreal, the way you get sometimes, when you've been alone too long.

He laughs softly, "You're always petulant, Infant. Stay away from the thesaurus before you dazzle 'em all with beauty AND brains."

You don't like the way he looks at you, all laughing and like he wants to pat you on the head. Chris makes you feel young, like you couldn't possibly be legal. He doesn't mean to, but he's been your big brother for so long.

"It was the dictionary, anyway. And I am. Petulant." You grin at Chris, daring him to resist. And you lean in, whispering softly so he has to strain to hear. "I think Lance and C are doin' something weird, yo."

You didn't realize until you tried to explain it that there's something about that twin circle of bruises that disturbs you. You're not sure if it's disturbing because nothing seemed to change between them, or because when you think about Lance's hands stretching JC's wrists up over his head hard, something twists inside you.

Chris just laughs at you again, and you know that if you give up and laugh with him that you'll wander off to battle at Playstation and maybe make something easy to eat for dinner and that will be that. You're confused, though, so you squirm a little and look at Chris.

"It's not weird, Jup. Just different than what you know." Chris shrugs and turns away, and that's not enough, not right now.

"But, like, why? Pain sucks, dude." You know that your voice is shifting perilously close to whining. He looks like he's going to smack you and then something shifts inside his eyes, and he reaches out and grabs your hand. You think it's going to be a bonding moment and just as you look into his eyes, and start to smile, he smacks your arm, hard.

"What the holy fuck!"

"How's that feel?" Chris is smirking now and you want to smack him back.

"How d'you think it feels, you stupid bitch." You're mumbling now and rubbing your arm. "It hurts."

"Really?" He blinks and turns away, very clearly finished, having done his incomprehensible bit to explain pain to you. You look down at the barely reddened handprint on your arm and it doesn't really hurt anymore. It's warm and almost tingles.

You know that you're probably too quiet for the rest of the night, but Chris allows it, lets you sulk. You wish that he wouldn't, and then you don't quite know why.

Talking to Joey seems to be easier than dealing with Chris when he's in one of his smug moods, so you bump Joey during a break and smile up at him. You're too glad when he bumps back and grins down at you. It's easy to say "Can I talk to you later?" and be glad when he nods. You think that he'll be easier to talk to than Chris.

When it's later, finally, and you're both sprawled out on Joey's bed, it's harder to ask him questions than you thought. "So, um. Joe, have you ever..." You trail off, not sure what to say anymore.

He watches you, arches his eyebrow and you shrug helplessly. "It's Lance and C, dude. They're just." And he's breaking in, a frown sliding over his face.

"Thought you and Lance were, um, old news?"

He looks concerned and you cringe, because you didn't know that Joey noticed your silly crush on Lance. You take a deep breath, because really, that's a part of what you're concerned about. "Well. Yeah. That was just... so long ago."

You can feel your cheeks flush. "Have you noticed him and C though? The way they are?"

Joey shrugs, and looks confused. "They're fucking. But I think they're happy." He reaches out and rubs your hair and you can't help the arch, just grateful for the affection. "You're not jealous are you, Jup?"

You shake your head, quickly, violently. "No. That's not it. They're just. Jayce's wrists. And the way Lance looks at him now. It's just weird, yo."

He laughs. You can feel yourself stiffen and you're resigned to stomping out of here, furious because no one takes you seriously and you're sick of the questions that beat inside your head.

"Have you ever, y'know. Tried hurting someone?" You can hear your voice squeak, and you can't look him in the eye.

You're reassured by his laughter, although it quickly fades to annoyance when he's giggling so hard that tiny little breaths of air are gasping out. "It's not that funny, you fuck!"

Joey straightens then, and tries to look contrite, even slinging an arm around your shoulder. "It's like, all perfectly normal, J. They're playing around, s'all." He giggles again, trying to suppress it, but you can feel it. "I can't picture spanking Kel. That's all."

He shifts and you pull away, a little grumpy, because you still don't understand and that was the purpose of this embarrassing little talk. "Well, um, thanks." You shrug and head toward the door.

You hear throat clearing and he calls out, "Hey Justin, didja try talking to Chris? I bet he'd be better to talk to about them than me."

You don't even turn around and it's all you can do to choke out, "Thanks man, catch ya later."

You know that it's foolhardy to tag along with JC and Lance but you're tired of avoiding them, tired of wondering. And when they show up at your door, laughing and looking like a wet dream in PVC and silver studded jewelry, you can't be sorry.

Your eyelashes feel strange and heavy, mascara caking them, and your pants are marginally too tight, but JC wolf whistles and Lance grabs your ass and they're so normal. It feels like JC should ask for permission to do things, if Lance is his master, but he's funny and irreverant and Lance looks at him and laughs. You're all three excited and happy, dashing to the care and fighting over who buys the first round.

JC laughs and his eyes skate over to Lances and asks "So what made Joe stay home when there's a world full of party out here?"

His eyes are shining and you think that his phrasing is so perfectly him. You wonder about Chris and why he's avoiding you, what it would be like if he looked at you with the same look of amused tolerance that Lance wears. When you think that maybe sometimes he does, it's odd and shocking and quite definitely time for a drink.

You're very certain that you like this club, once you're clutching a Jack Daniels and coke. The crowd is loud and eager and not overly impressed with any of you, while the music's loud and the air seems to almost glisten with something heavy and damp.

You're sitting out a song, sipping on your drink, enjoying the feeling of being alone and watching your friends. After living with them for this many years, they're easy to read and right now they're roughly equivalent to watching a porn movie. There're secrets written in the toss of JC's hair and the curve of Lance's smile, and you feel briefly, guiltily aroused. You realize that you're biting your lip and wishing, when a guy drops down beside you and runs a quick hand up your leg.

He leans in and breathes in your ear, "I like vinyl on pretty little boys like you." and you're startled because that was never supposed to happen and he looks secure and knowing and almost smug.

Your legs feel hot and loose when you try to picture what he's seeing. You know your eyes are heavy lidded and sultry, a photographer's dream, and your lips are probably impossibly red. Your whole body feels soft and like it wants to be molded.

His hand squeezes almost too tightly on your thigh and you look away. "Not interested. Sorry." You know that you're drawing out the 'sorry' with an insolent lilt and his mouth is curving hard and cruel and your stomach twitches. There're possibilities here, and it's easy to sweep your eyes down the length of his body.

Then Lance is touching him too hard on the shoulder and saying, "He said he wasn't interested." There's a whole iceberg in the smoke of his voice and when he arches like that, all sleepy and dangerous looking at once, you remember why you wanted him to fuck you all those years ago.

The guy laughs and walks away, tipping his head and when he says, "Lucky shit. Don't they every just wear you out?", you don't even realize his assumption at first. When it dawns on you, you aim for insulted, but mostly you feel wistful, like maybe you wish just a little to belong to Lance the way JC obviously does.

When you're all in the elevator on the way up to your rooms, you don't even try to understand why you're alone. When Lance has JC back up against the elevator wall, hands folded subtly around JC's wrists, you want to hit him or drop to your knees and beg him to explain, to make you understand.

Instead, you watch politely, with lowered eyelids and when you're back in your room, cock sliding through your fist, you don't even try to last longer than a minute.

The short hard raps on the door to your room jar you out of your sleep and when you look at the clock, it feels like it should be earlier than 10:30. Chris pokes his head in, and you tug the covers up far enough that you can hide.

He doesn't allow it, practically leaping into the room and bouncing on your bed, screeching "Wake up up up, Infant!" His voice gets shriller and louder with each 'up' and you think that you should point out that you didn't drink enough to be hungover, so you're really very tired and could he please *shut the fuck up.

He doesn't give you the chance, yanking the covers off. "We're going out! Brunch!" You can hear the exclamation marks in his voice, and it makes you smile, just a little, and you're dressed before you know it and trudging beside him as he practically skips along.

When you're settled down, cereal and pastries ordered, he grins at you. "So. Didja get lucky last night?"

"No." And that seems to harsh, so you add in "But I could have, if Lance hadn't fucked it all up." It doesn't seem to matter that the guy freaked you out a little and that you'd shut him down, even before Lance walked over.

But Chris's face is scrunching into a look of concern, and he's patting your arm. "I thought he was with JC?" Then you realize that the concern might very well be for Lance too, and you shrug away, irritably.

"He made it look like I was, y'know, *his* too." And you shift a little, uncomfortable with the thought of Lance as this big dominating guy, when that's not the truth at all. He'd fucked you softly and enthusiastically and you'd seen starsparkles when you came, and he'd kissed you and it'd been sweet.

Chris doesn't seem to understand the weirdness, because he's crowing and bouncing and the table is shaking with his laughter. "You're Lance's bitch! I knew it!"

Your brunch comes at that auspicious moment, and you're absurdly grateful, until Chris picks up the conversation around a mouthful of bagel. "What did the guy do, that Lance felt compelled to stake, um, ownership of you?" His mouth twitches when he says it.

You explain, and his eyes widen. He huffs a breath out, tilting his head a little. "Woah, that's certainly not the way I'd go about it."

The silence stretches out until you can feel the heat in your cheeks, and he scoots a little closer to you. "Justin. It's okay."

"Just. Let it go, okay?" You don't know how to explain that you wish you had someone like Lance to learn from, and the frustration makes your words snap out of your mouth.

He's smiling at you, kindly, now. "Hey. There's nothing wrong with not wanting to try something, y'know. Vanilla's a tasty sort of flavour."

You spend the rest of the day wishing that you knew how to ask him the right questions to make him show you the way he would go about it.

It's quiet that night, quieter than you really prefer it to be. JC and Lance didn't invite you to go out with them, Joey's playing daddy and Chris is alone in his room.

You spend too much time flipping through a hundred cable channels that have nothing on them, and you look at the clock, considering actually trying to sleep, but it's only 8:30. You want to find Chris, and before you really even realize it, you're starting to think that maybe he should be in charge of making you understand.

You're walking over to his room and pounding on the door before you even really think about it. When Chris opens the door, his face with blurry with sleep, and you're pushing in past him, feeling almost indignant.

"I'm not vanilla. I just." It's all that you can think of to say. "I just don't know. And I, um, I want to." When you see his face go slack with surprise, you regret what you've said, but it's too late. You stalk over to his bed and sit on it, perched squarely on the very edge.

"So, yeah. Tell me how you would go about it." You're staring defiantly, and he swipes a hand over his face and mutters something about dreams and pushy kids.

You try to think about the best way to explain that you're not a kid, and that you really do want this, and in fact, you'd want Chris regardless, that this whole stupid thing just made you realize. When he walks over and scrubs his hand roughly over your head, and then tilts your chin up, you just blink and your mind is saying 'please me, please me, now, please' but you just smile at him.

When he sits down next to you, and kisses you, no prelude and no questions, just hot slick perfect, you try to talk through it, suddenly finding the words and he pulls back and shushes you, a serious glint in his eye.

You're shivering, trying to crawl inside Chris, arms wrapping around him, just absolutely glad that he understands this weird craving because you don't. It seems like he kisses you for hours before he strips you, and when you're naked, his eyes raking down your body while he pulls his own clothes off, goosebumps prickle over your body and you suddenly understand. Nothing's different, no words have been said, but he's in charge, and he almost glows with intensity.

He whispers in your ear, "This is just the beginning." and you groan when his fingers slip inside you, soft and firm. He's smiling, but this Chris is different from your buddy. Your buddy never wrenched your hands back and told you not to move in a voice that was smooth as silk and unequivocally compelling.

When you're arching under him, your eyes half shut and he's telling you, "You're the prettiest little boy, hot and tight and you're not going to move, you're not going to come until I tell you that you can." you whimper and nod.

When you're both sweaty and you're about a second from begging him for more, he runs a single proprietary hand down your side and tells you that you can, and it's like silver fire poured through your veins when you finally let go.

He wraps an arm around you when you're lying there sticky and sated. "You trust me, don't you?"

You nod, because you do.

He kisses you, and tells you "Sleep now. We'll talk more tomorrow." And he's your buddy Chris again, only now you understand how to ask for what you want, and you're closing your eyes while he flicks the lights off and you comprehend why JC looks at Lance like he does.

~end~