jump to headers

i: being in love means you are completely broken

It was not supposed to go this way. You had it all sussed out and you knew exactly what you wanted. It was the same thing you all wanted. A quick roll in the hay and done. Easy. It wasn't like any of you couldn't get it whenever the hell you pleased; there was a hot, young, hole and a heartbeat in every town you rolled into. Just, sometimes, when you were in the course of rolling, you wanted something different. Something more.

JC used to do the whole "Kansas City Trucking Corp." thing sometimes. And maybe that was cool for him back in the days when you could still get off the bus at those random truck stops along the highway, but it was too dangerous these days. Everyone and their mother (father) recognized you now.

You bet that JC missed it a lot, though.

You'd walked in on one of those little trysts once. JC on his knees, sweet, pink mouth wrapped around some random cock and sucking like he had never been weaned. Maybe you'd watched them go in there, maybe you followed. But, you'd also seriously had to pee. Seriously. So there was that excuse.

And maybe you'd thought about that pink pink mouth with its delirious tongue snaking out from between those great teeth and licking at your own balls ever since. Every time you touched JC's shoulder, in a normal, friendly gesture, you thought about pushing down on it, forcing JC to those pretty knees and watching him jerk down your zipper with his white teeth.

And it wasn't like you all hadn't indulged in one another a few times. It's normal to love the people that you spend far too much time confined to small spaces with. And, man, those buses were really fucking small.

Really small. Too small.

You'd let Chris suck you off more than once in the span of your touring careers. But only because Chris liked it so much and only wanted you to watch him jerk off in return. That's what friends are for, after all.

And Justin had spent more than one evening servicing Lance in his tiny bunk, there had been no pretending what those sounds were, coming from the back of the bus. Especially since you'd heard them emitted from the privacy of your own bunk on more than one occasion. But, man, it was never supposed to be like this.

There weren't supposed to be late-night confessions of love-type things or legs twined around each other until the morning sun crept through the teeny, darkened bus windows. There weren't supposed to be secret kisses and fingers wrapped together behind your back or breathy moans pushed into your ear when you thought no one was paying attention. You weren't supposed to have latched onto each other like fucking fairies. Not when you had a kid out there and a woman who really did wait for you and all that bullshit. And not when you were really only supposed to be friends who just so happened to get it on every once in a while.

But that was back before once in a while had turned into every, single night and you both stopped picking up those hot, young, hole and a heartbeats in every town you rolled into. Before one hotel room always went unslept-in and you used the early mornings to slip in and mess up the sheets so the maids would never know. Back before he said he loved you and meant it as more than the insane ramblings of a guy in the throes of orgasm.

You'd said it before, a million times. You said it to every chick who'd ever had your cock in their mouth and looked so pretty with her lashes bowed and fluttering and the threat of tears rimming against them.

You'd said it to JC the time that you found yourselves alone and horny and there wasn't going to be a truck stop any time soon. And, you'd meant it, but not in that real "I love you" way. You meant it in more like a "I love you, man, you're my best friend and shit and I really like the way my cock looks pushing into your body and thanks for that, dude" way.

But now, it was all different and if this were some chick you'd have her picking out china patterns and shit. And that was fucked. The tables flipped onto their backs and you knew that you were fucked. You noticed pictures on the teeny sites that you were pretty sure told your entire story, if only the viewer looked hard enough.

They really didn't have to look all that hard.

To you, it was all too obvious. The furtive glances that you never even realized you were shooting in his direction from onstage, the fucking photo shoots that always seemed to have the two of you looking yearningly at each other. You looked like you were already a married couple and you were sure that people were really starting to talk. You were just lucky that the tabloids didn't seem to notice, or maybe that they didn't care.

When you weren't spending all your time fooling around and holing up together in a tight corner of the bus, you were making fools of yourselves on camera. And you were sure the minute that 'On The Line' came out, everyone would definitely know what was going on between you two. You'd fucked to more than one day's worth of rushes because the two of you looked so damn cute together not being yourselves.

The rest of the guys didn't seem to mind, strangely. The first time JC noticed you leaning your weight back on Lance while you were on line at venue craft services, he moved in front of the both of you and stared hard into your faces. You tried to remain as blank and as still as possible -- tried to keep your composure while he scoped you down and totally knew everything right then and there. Lance smiled that big, goofy smile of his and his green eyes sparkled and you leaned into him more. JC laughed his ass off and walked away saying nothing. He didn't even get his food.

Later, the two of you held hands in the dark and thought about JC's laughter and knew that it was all good. And it made it easier on you, now you didn't have to be so secretive around the guys because if JC was any indication, they'd all be fine with it.

They all had to know anyway. Everyone had to know.

But sometimes, like, right now, you don't know if you are fine with it. Like, maybe it had gone way too far and everything was going to blow up in your faces any day now. Other shoe dropping and that kind of shit. Because it wasn't supposed to go this way. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It just wasn't.

ii: and i am proof that the heart is a risky fuel to burn

It was supposed to be fun.

It started that way. You remember. And it is still fun, just more serious, now. And serious tends to take the fun out of fun. You used to have fun with Kelly back before you knocked her up. Not that you regret that, not really. Brianna is the best thing that's ever happened to you. But Kelly's all about 'I need this' and 'don't forget to send me that check next week' -- not the same girl you used to fuck in the back seat of your first real car, since she popped out your kid.

You used to think that you only kept her around all those years because she took it all in stride and had always been there for a quick one when you gave her the call. And in some ways, that made her special to you. Now she's your baby's mother and you always hated the way that sounded when the guys on talk shows said it.

And then there was Lance. Fucking Lance who made you fall in fucking love and made it make no sense and tons of sense all at the same fucking time.

So you try to figure out exactly when it happened, where the change was that took the two of you from just fucking around like everyone else, to this thing that you couldn't explain really. But you can't tell when the line got all blurred; you start to think that maybe it had always been that way between you, but you just hadn't figured it out yet. But then you remember back in the days when it didn't hurt to think of him fooling around with someone else, not even JC. Because back then, it was just fooling around. And the two of you don't fool around anymore. Because it's more serious than that.

Not that you don't roll around like porn stars. Because you definitely do that. But now you kiss all the time, too. And you fall asleep with your fingers all wrapped in each other's and wake up with your bodies pressed so close together that it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. And you think that's more of a figurative thing, too.

But, sometimes, you look down at his face when he's got his lips around your dick and you try to pretend that it's JC's mouth down there because that used to be one of your favorite fantasies. Try being the operative word. It never works. You know it's Lance and you like that it's Lance and you realize that whenever that happened was probably when this thing became the thing that it is.

Chris has taken to mocking you whenever possible. Not that this is a switch in his behavior at all, but it's different now. He used to just poke fun and make pranks and do stupid shit to annoy you separately. Now, his pranks are pranks on the two of you as one thing. The two of you are a unit. Now.

That's the thing that you never understood about relationships, really. How do you go from being two separate people with identities, then in one, big swoop, you become one thing? The relationship thing.

And sometimes, it doesn't bother you at all; you're happy that you don't have to think about who's going to get you off the next time you want to get off and you're stoked that the face is always the same and there's this really romantic part of you that's always been there but never got the chance to really flex itself. And it does now. A lot. And Lance really loves that, too.

But you miss the Chasez fantasy. You miss being able to look at him and think about the way that his hand would fit perfectly to the side of your hip if he'd pushed you against a wall and took your dick into his mouth. You still think of it sometimes when he has that glazed-over passionate look on his face and it pisses you off that you have to completely hide it when no one else has to.

Even Lance doesn't always hide it. And he's always been good at hiding so much that you know he's not even trying.

And you never bring it up later. Not even when you're lying in bed together and it's on the tip of your tongue. Not even when you're feeling all kinds of needy and you'd like nothing more than to hear Lance tell you that no, dude, there's no way in hell that he still thinks about fucking JC or Justin or Chris or anyone else anymore, not now that he has you and you're all he needs.

And that was never supposed to happen. At. All. That's the part that fucks with your head. It was never supposed to be like this. Never.

iii: put back together, the one piece that was yours is beating in your lover's breast

And how much does that suck, really?

You never wanted love. You never wanted complications and bullshit and relationships that threaten to take your mind off of the important things in life. Not that you even remember what those things are. Not anymore. Now the important things are all overshadowed by Lance.

Even the group is getting overshadowed sometimes. And that scares you more than anything. Not that it's really overshadowed, not really, but there are times when it seems less important than it used to, less in the foreground. Less of the most important thing. And it should be the most important thing. Always.

You know that it is to Lance.

And that part only bothers you a little bit. Because you know that the group is more important. It's what got you all here in the first place.

Just. Sometimes. It kinda isn't. And, really, it was never supposed to be that way. And it pisses you off that it kinda is.

But you'd never tell him that.

Not that he'd really care, anyway. Not about that. As long as you show up, do your job, quip in the interviews, mug for the camera. So, sure, you can even afford to be distracted by this thing. You just can't afford to really be this distracted. For yourself. Because you really don't like it.

But you are, and it pisses you off.

There are days when your voice seems flatter and you can't hit the right notes and Wade glares at you and you see that admonishing look on Lance's face that just says 'don't fuck this up.' And you know that you're not trying to fuck things up and you want to hit the notes correctly and you're trying to concentrate on the dance steps and the perfect pitch of the note you're supposed to sing and all you can concentrate on is Lance. And you really try not to.

You really do try.

But there he is and he's right there and it's all your mind is capable of thinking of. And the notes just come out wrong even though when you open your mouth you're so sure of what's going to come out. Your mouth, your lungs, betray you. And when you hear that wrong sound, you can't control your feet anymore and you're just thankful that it's only a rehearsal and that no one is around to see you fuck up.

No one except Wade and Justin and JC and Chris and, of course, Lance.

And they look at you as if to remind you how replaceable you are, even though you know it's not really true. And when Justin suggests that you take a break, you slump against the wall and feel slightly defeated. Lance doesn't even look back at you, stays focused on practicing the moves, and you know that it has nothing to do with you, but you'd really like him to just turn around and make sure you're all right. You smile when JC brings you a bottle of water and you pat him on the leg when he looks sympathetically at you.

And you're not sure what the look means. Or if it even exists at all.

Because that's the thing. You're not sure what's true anymore. You're starting to think it's all in your head.

iv: and if you stick with me, you can help me, i'm sure we'll find new things to burn

And so you watch, because what else is there to do. It's not like you can control it.

You watch yourself fall back on your instincts when you're out at the club and feel the booze starting to take a hold of you. Chris has been plying you with drinks since you entered the place and it's gotten to the point where each one pushes you further to the brink of complete and total numbness. It's nice. You recognize it. You go with it.

JC and Justin are out on the dancefloor, a dizzying spin of lights and bodies and Chris is in front of you with another cocktail and you forget to wonder why Lance decided to stay back at the hotel. You're glad of it, you know that you've been spending too much time around each other and it's good to have some time to be on your own. For both of you. And your head is really starting to get clouded over by the lights and the bodies and the booze that keeps showing up in your hand. And the bass just drives through you. You feel your body pulsing to its viral beat.

And there are so many girls. You swear that they must ship them here, herd them all into the nightclub just for the four of you. They fawn all over all of you. And you remember how much you always liked that. You hear familiar words pour from your lips and you know that your smile is dripping off your face and you feel predatory. There are so many of them. And you remember how fun they are.

You think that it might be fun to cup your hands around a pair of firm tits, for a change. And maybe you could push one of them up against the bathroom sink while another one licks up your back and drags her long, painted nails across your thighs. You'd like to breathe perfume and flick open one of those front-closing bras and watch the tumble of female skin fall into your hands.

And there's another drink in front of you before you even put down the one in your hand.

Chris grins at you when he takes off towards the dancefloor with a couple of the blondes that have been circling your table like slinky sharks and you feel your teeth bare at the lone redhead and her beautiful, dark friend. When she moves just that much closer to you, you look at her creamy skin and want to sink your teeth into it. And you know that she's thinking almost the same thing. She flips her long, auburn hair out of her face and smiles seductively at you. The rest of the girls are still there, but they seem to have taken a step back.

But that might be just because your vision is blurring from the cocktail onslaught. Nothing has any sharp edges anymore and everything is just pretty. Pretty lights and pretty girls and pretty bodies grinding all over the way-too-colorful dancefloor like a heap of wriggling snakes. You hear yourself laugh and press your body closer to hers.

It's not so much later that you feel your lips close over hers and your tongue press into her mouth and you're surprised by her taste. It's been a long time since you've tasted anything different under your tongue. You think you like that.

Laughing, you stand on shaky, drunken legs and lead her off towards where you think there might be a dark corner or a bathroom stall or someplace else private that you can use to have your way with this girl and her long, shiny hair and dark, crimson lips. You want to lick the lipstick off them. The whole time you're walking with her, you envision the things that you'd like to do to her when you get wherever it is you're trying to go.

But when you get there, it's another story entirely. You have her up against the wall in a dark hallway in the corner of the nightclub and her mouth is open under yours and it feels all wrong. Your hand slides under her dress and she arches against you and you try to ignore how awful you're starting to feel. The guilt just takes hold of your balls and squeezes. You even whimper into her lips as you pull away mumbling some half-assed apology. You slink away into the club and look for someone to tell that you're going to leave.

Alone, you feel even more drunk than you did just minutes ago. The room is starting to spin and everything is more confusing, your nerves wrack as you search the crowd for familiarity. When JC appears from the throng, you grab him by the shoulder and tell him that you're taking off. You're feeling sick and very tired and you're just going to go back to the hotel and get some rest. Nothing is wrong. You're fine. You just need to get out of there and get some air. You've had too much to drink.

In the limo, you start to feel a little better. It's a short ride back to the hotel; you down three bottles of water before you arrive. Her taste almost disappears from your mouth. You feel better. More steady. You're fine. Nothing happened, anyway. And that only bothers you a little bit.

You're escorted to the elevator and find that your legs are still weak. But at least the confusion has gone away some and even though you're still totally wasted, you feel like at least you know what you're doing. And the pangs are subsiding. Some.

Then you're standing in front of the door of the room and you can feel your heartbeat throbbing out of control. You take a long, deep breath and hold it in while you slip the card into the lock. You're fine, damnit. You've been this drunk a million times before and tumbled into the hotel room and kissed Lance silly. There was nothing all that different about this night.

But as soon as you get into the room and Lance smiles up at you, you think that you might be the biggest asshole in the world. He sits up on the bed and starts putting away the paperwork in front of him and leans back into the pillows and asks about the night. Yes, it was fun. Yeah, you're completely wasted. And your heartbeat is louder than your voice. You stand in the center of the room and will your legs to just act normal and walk to the bed. They don't listen, they start to pace.

But you're really too drunk and you feel yourself slump into furniture that you hardly even see. And Lance just comes to you and pulls you into his arms and leads you to the bed where you feel all the more guilty. Words just tumble from your lips and you have no control over them at all. You were stupid, you say. But, nothing happened. You kissed her, that's it. But you were so stupid and you're so sorry and you shouldn't have even gone out without him and Lance's hand covers your mouth.

He says your name as he steadies your face in front of his and cuts you off from your hardly sensical spouting. And he kisses you. So lightly, just his lips brushing yours and glinty, green eyes staring back at you and you feel suddenly more sober. He smiles at you and doesn't want to hear your lame confessions of nothing happening and everything being so wrong. And you think that maybe he doesn't even care, but there's that look in his eyes that he does care and he does.

"You love me."

His voice breaks the silence and his lips are so close to yours that you taste his breath on your tongue and hers is not even a memory anymore. And you know that he's right and that he's always known.

And that makes it so much better.

end.

Author:Pilar Fandom: NSlash Disclaimer: Certainly don't own 'em. They're real people and all that shit and real people cannot be owned, despite what others might think. Also, this is an absolute work of FICTION. I make zero claim to its trueness no matter how much it might LOOK like Joey and Lance are practically a married couple. Really, what goes on in their lives is not even slightly my business. Fiction, that's what this is. (Also, subtitles are from "Being in Love" by Songs: Ohia. Lyrics by Jason Molina. No infringement intended, no profit made.) Notes: Navia -- sweet, sweet Navia. Thank you so fucking much. You rock so hard it hurts. And Mare... You are a beta queen and you make me feel so much better after I show something to you and you don't tell me that it blows. And man, the beta love you give. I love my ladies.