This time it was entirely Justin's fault that Chris was in a mood. Lance glared at him, rage squinting his eyes almost shut. Justin tossed hair he didn't have and tried to look innocent, like he hadn't been playing a game that only he seemed to understand.

The game itself appeared to have been inspired when two trashily dressed guys, jostling their way into the bathroom, glanced at Justin and called him a fag. It wasn't the actual name-calling, Lance knew, merely that they hadn't looked at Justin with the awe he felt was his due.

As far as Lance could tell, Justin's game had involved a celebration of the 'I am Justin Randall Timberlake' concept, complete with ritual sacrifices of other people's girlfriends and a sort of never-ending spotlight directly on him.

Of course, not everyone was a member of the Justin Randall Timberlake fanclub, most notably the two guys who started the whole mess and who were objecting in a violent manner to their girlfriends joining on up. Lance figured that the whole thing would still have been okay if Justin hadn't started talking trash, and even after that, if the girls hadn't been so starstruck and stupid.

Nothing ever seemed to work out, he thought. There was pushing and shoving, until Chris was there, eyes dark and bright, mouth twisted in a sadistic smile. He fixed it somehow, managed to frighten two guys who could probably bench press him.

Justin had retreated to the lounge after Chris's rescue, abandoning the girls, his game and Chris. Seeing him walk into the bar, eyes shining, bottom lip plumped up with teethmarks, Lance plunked down his gin and tonic and walked over to look out of the exit, searching the crowd for Chris.

He gave up, turning and gulping down the rest of his drink. "I'm not doing it anymore."

Lance hated being the one who had to calm Chris. It was supposedly his job because he was so cool, so unemotional and Chris responded to his calm better than JC's spacey rambles or Justin's crisp self centeredness, but it just seemed unfair.

The night was too far gone, not the normal "I'm a rock star" out of control, but something more, something darker. They were alone in the VIP lounge, waiting to go home, mostly just wanting the night to be over - unwilling to abandon Chris, but unable to control him just then, either.

JC was slumped down, almost asleep, eyes wide and unfocused. Joey was sitting at attention, drinking on autopilot and only occasionally looking at Lance pleadingly. Lance shifted, glaring at everyone in turn, even unfairly at JC, who was clueless as always and just wanted to go home. Lance knew what his duty was, even if he absolutely didn't feel like doing it.

"I'm not." Lance wondered for a moment if maybe he should be stomping his feet or throwing things. Justin just watched him, waiting. JC looked thoughtful, like maybe he was ready to go try his hand at calming Chris, and that was enough to make Lance struggle to his feet and glare at Justin again.

"You." He slashed a finger viciously, "are a total asshole." He paused, swept the room with cold, angry eyes. "Get ready to go." And he turned and stomped out of the lounge and into the main bar, where Chris was sitting, hunched over some shot glasses, sucking on a cigarette.

Lance's face softened, and his hand trembled a little as he grabbed Chris's shoulder, not letting go, even when Chris swung around, eyes glassy and bloodshot with leftover rage and too much alcohol. His shoulders relaxed into a slump as he met Lance's eyes.

"S'time to go, huh?"

Lance slowly nodded, never breaking the eye contact, still petting the soft fabric under his hand. He hated seeing Chris like this, hated knowing that he was the only one who could touch Chris when he was coiled up tightly and far too sober for how much he'd drank.

JC once tried to hug Chris when he was in a mood. He'd gotten punched in the eye and Chris spent the next month hating himself for hurting someone as sweet and fragile as JC. Joey and Justin didn't even bother after that, just waited for Lance to swoop in and make it all better.

He didn't know why Chris got so angry, so out of control, and right that instant it didn't matter. Lance could hate everyone, including Chris, afterward, but right then he just concentrated on soothing him, making the thin lines on his forehead smooth out and the tense set of his jaw relax.

Chris leaned in, whispered, "Can we? I mean, after?"

Lance nodded, hauled Chris to his feet. "Yeah. But right now it's time to go."

It was a surprisingly short time before everyone was sorted out, JC asleep, Justin and Joey playing playstation. Chris was silent the whole way home, turning to look at Lance once, before walking into his room and slamming the door.

Joey gestured toward the doorway, not even trying to look persuasive. Lance hated the fact that he didn't seem to have any choices, even if he didn't particularly want them. Lance felt a small smile shape his mouth, Joey gave him a thumbs up, and he opened the doorway to Chris's room.

Chris stood by the window, looking out, the lines of his back all scrunched in, radiating stress. Lance knew that Chris was aware that he was in the room, knew that Chris was counting his footsteps. He didn't turn around until Lance was right behind him, almost touching him but not.

"You came." Lance barely heard the words, only heard the relief in Chris's voice. He saw Chris's body unfurl, saw him tense with anticipation, rather than rage, and he ran a finger down Chris's spine, just because he could, because it made Chris shiver and press backward.

Lance laughed, low in his chest, knew that Chris was hard and aching and wanted him. He took the last step forward, nestling himself against Chris's back, fitting his arms around Chris, so that he could lean in and lick the back of his neck.

Chris jerked backward, and Lance nipped at his ear. "You like that, don't you? You're such a tough guy out there, you can scare everyone but me." One hand rubbed lazily up Chris's torso. "I know what you want."

Lance felt, rather than heard, the breath that shuddered out of Chris's chest, could feel the anger seeping away. The line Lance walked was delicate, just like Chris himself, and Lance bent to kiss at the hollow where his neck met his ear, smoothing his hands in softer circles until Chris sighed and pushed backward, ass thrusting in unspoken invitation.

It was a dance they knew by heart, the foreplay blessedly short, just silent grappling, and Lance thought that it was worth all the worrying to have Chris's tongue darting into his mouth, clever and insistent, while he fumbled with their clothes. It was always short and almost sweet, Chris tugging Lance closer and in, never talking, just taking what he needed.

Afterward, Lance thought about talking to Chris, asking him why, but he'd done it before and Chris never answered. He was too tired to deal with blank brown eyes that looked empty and sad, and it was easier to brush his lips across the corner of Chris's mouth, drape his arm over Chris's side, and pretend that things were okay, not merely dormant.

~end~