Chris knows that he's hopelessly naive sometimes, that he thinks that things will work out and that words can fix anything. He's fond of words, loves hearing sweet things whispered to him in darkness maybe more even than being touched.

Lance is the best at that, his voice crushed velvet in Chris's ear, and Chris thinks that maybe he better not think about Lance too much. Lance loves Joey, and they're right together, sunshine and goofy smiles. They look right together and Chris thinks that they're not a fly by night encounter, born of too much vodka and not enough human contact.

Lance always spent the night with him, scrupulously scooping Chris against his body, but he usually looked uncomfortable in the morning, like he thought if he blinked enough, the situation would dissolve into nothing. Chris shivers when he thinks of Lance's hands brushing down his body, and the night seems more empty.

He tries to forget about words then, when it becomes obvious that Lance won't be babbling dirty words in his ear anytime soon. Enthusiasm seems like an adequate substitute, and Justin's nothing if not enthusiastic. Justin likes to fuck with techno music blaring in the background and all the lights on.

Justin poses in front of Chris, and it's almost like he's got the best call boy in the world, and Justin's never doubted that could make Chris scream. Chris knows that he can, but he feels weird being arranged just so, and fucked just so, almost like he's some sort of bizarre action figure, posable and pliant and plastic.

When Chris is skewered, pinned beneath Justin, it seems like enough. Justin likes to watch his face and talk, but the words never come out right, and they always wind up laughing and panting and it's like the orgasms are secondary to the laughter. He doesn't think its enough, and when they just sort of stop, he thinks that they're both sort of relieved.

He's silent then, quiet in his knowledge. The hush seems like it'll engulf him sometimes, and inappropriate words burst from him at random intervals. There's bitterness in his voice and his smile's stretched across his face until it feels like he's nothing but teeth and lips.

Joey comes to him one night, and Chris can't bring himself to feel suprised. He actually asks him if he drew the short straw tonight, and Joey looks startled, almost speculative, and denies it.

Joey's soft, but surprisingly not squishy or cuddly. Being fucked by Joey's a lot like falling off a cliff without a safety net. Chris thinks that he should be surprised, but this strange lassitude seeps complacency into his bones, and when he comes, it's not that hard to roll away and ignore Joey tugging his clothes back on.

Chris knows that sex is simply sex to Joey, and that he only sleeps with Lance. Still, when Joey leans in and calls Chris baby and tells him to sleep in such a kind voice, the words lull him to sleep and he smiles for real the next day.

Chris hates that he still feels naive after having slept with most of his friends. Truth should be harsh and blinding, and he shouldn't be looking at JC like he is. When he's being cold and disconnected, he thinks that he should leave someone as a mystery, someone with secrets that he can dream of.

JC's a good choice, he believes, because he's nothing but secrets. Chris watches him flit through life, humming blues music and radiating happiness at the same time. He's a contradiction, and that's good. He doesn't want to watch JC unravel around him and then be disappointed and empty.

It's his ace in the hole, JC and his complexity. And that's why he wishes it was Lance and his lush voice or Justin and his exuberance or Joey and his sharp expertise when he opens the door. JC squints at him, and then grins and Chris knows that he's lost.

He honestly doesn't know if things are going to be different this time and he wants it desperately, wants JC to fuck him and mean what he says. It's incandescent, just as he knew it would be, because JC is simply too bright to have it be otherwise.

JC stretches and yawns and stays the night huddled against Chris just like it couldn't be otherwise. He wants Chris to fuck him in the morning, and it's clean and perfect and Chris curses his naivete, even while he's falling in love with JC's rumpled morning hair and pretty words.

~end~