Date: Tue, 03 Jun 2003 19:25:36 -0400
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: rebound - part 40

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no
way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or
anything else.  This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy
constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy
flames, and will not tolerate them.

That said, we now continue.

***

Justin held my hand, starting to lead me out of the music room, but I
didn't want to let this go just yet. For whatever reason, I just couldn't
get JC's face, downturned and hurt, out of my mind, and I didn't really
care for the cavalier way Justin had just treated him.  That he could be so
casually uncaring about JC's feelings bothered the hell out of me in light
of everything else he'd told me about him, and it left me wondering again
what my purpose here, in the house with the two of them, in Justin's bed,
really was. I stopped in the middle of the music room, not quite digging my
heels in, but the pause was enough to stop Justin, too. He turned to look
at me, his eyebrows rising.

"Justin, do you, um," I began, trying to phrase it. "Don't you think you
were a little harsh?"

"Harsh?" he echoed, not understanding.

"To JC just now," I said, nodding toward the doorway. Justin's face was
blankly curious as he stared at me, expressionless. "Don't you think you
were kind of cold, a little?"

He looked at me with such a carefully smooth face that I doubted myself for
a second.  Maybe he really didn't think he'd done anything wrong.

"I don't think so," he answered finally, shrugging. "He was interrupting
us."

"He was checking on you!" I said sharply, pulling my hand out of his. "You
heard what he said. He knew you were on the phone with your mother, and he
was worried about you."

"You're really pissed about this, aren't you?" Justin asked, cocking his
head to the side.  Did he really not understand why I was upset? Was he the
Justin I knew, or the Justin that Chris told me about way back in Boston?
Why couldn't I tell anymore? Back then I'd been so sure, but now I was just
confused all the time. "Chris, I was, you know, maybe I was a little bit
short, but he was bothering us."

"He's bound to!" I snapped. "We're in the same house, and the damn place
isn't that big!  He's bound to trip over us and bother us and interrupt us
the whole time we're here!"

"Why are you yelling at me?" Justin asked, his mouth turning down, his face
creasing.  "Why are you so mad at me?"

I felt my heart wrench a little, felt something inside of me pinching
tightly. I was upsetting Justin on top of a phone call from his mother, an
experience that always left him raw and hurt. How could I expect him to
have been thinking clearly? What the hell kind of a boyfriend was I,
anyway? I wanted to reach out to him, to scoop him back up, but then I
caught myself, because I also wanted to make a point. I wanted to believe
that he'd just been thoughtless, but at the same time I still had those
nagging little suspicions.  Damn it, was it Justin who had changed? Or
maybe was it me?

"Why are we here?" I asked, lowering my tone, taking some of the bite out.
"Why did we come back here?"

"Because I wanted to be home," Justin answered, looking guiltily at his
shoes. "And I, um, wanted to be friends with JC again."

"And he was just trying to be friends with you," I began.

"And I snapped at him," Justin finished. OK, he got the point. I reached
out and pulled him into a hug, and he held onto me tightly, sighing.

"Maybe you should apologize," I said, touching his back, feeling the push
of his chest against me.

"Sorry," he said immediately, his hands sliding down to the small of my
back, fingertips lightly tracing up and down just above my ass.

"Not me, but thanks," I said, chuckling a little. "I meant JC."

"Maybe," Justin sighed. "Maybe in the morning."

"Maybe?" I asked, irked. "Justin, he was just."

"He knew you were down here," Justin said. "Like you said, the house isn't
that big. He must have known you came down, and he came down anyway. I'll
think about apologizing. Maybe."

Great. Where the hell did this leave me? Maybe Justin was playing games,
and using me to hurt JC. Or, maybe JC was playing games, and deliberately
sticking his nose in when he knew that I'd be comforting Justin. Maybe
everyone here was crazy, me included.

"Fine," I sighed, giving up. "Do whatever you want."

I found myself staring at the wall, at row after row of pictures of Justin
and the guys, neatly arranged in a grid of tiny frames. It was a cute
effect, line after line of candid photographs, and I wondered if Justin or
JC had done it or if some interior decorator had.  Probably them. No
decorator would have left this room with that weird space helmet and all
those Hard Rock menus. Justin walked up behind me and put his hands on my
shoulders.

"It's nice to be home," he sighed, and we both smiled. I could hear the
happiness in his voice. He looked over my shoulder at the pictures, and
started to point.  "That one's from Germany. I look, God, we were all so
young, then. That's me and Lance in Paris. Neither one of us had ever been
out of the country before, I don't think any of us had, and we were just
dazzled. Over there, that's from the party we had the night we won our
lawsuit, and that's from when we got our tattoos in Toronto, the fire on my
ankle.  Everyone has one but JC."

"Why?" I asked, curious.

"He's scared of needles," Justin answered. He looked at the picture wall,
and then tugged at my hand again. "Maybe we should clear some of these
frames out. Get some pictures of you and me in here."

Sure, Justin. Plug me right into the vacant boyfriend spot, just like
everyone thinks you already are. Give me his bed, his dresser, his watch,
and even his picture frames, and I'll do my best to fit the part.

"Or you could just get more frames," I said, pulling away. "I'm going to
bed."

"Me too," Justin said, ignoring the change in my demeanor.

I felt very tired suddenly, completely exhausted, and I didn't argue as
Justin led me by the hand up the stairs. I was still a little irritated
with the way Justin had treated JC, not so much by what he had done as by
the casual way he had done it, and still a little unsettled about where I
fit into the whole dynamic between them. Things were shifting between
Justin and I, too, and they had started the minute we got to Florida. I
didn't want to think it, but I was starting to feel like maybe Chris was
right, at least a little. As much as Justin had promised not to fall into
his same old patterns around me, not to be the spoiled little popstar I had
met at the airport the day I went to pick him up, every time I turned
around that's what he was doing. As much as he had told me that JC was an
asshole and a bastard and everything else, JC had actually been nothing but
polite while Justin had just been abrasive and snippy every time we were
around any of his bandmates.

I was already in bed, under the covers with my boxers on and the lights
off, when Justin slid in next to me. I saw a small picture of Britney on
the nightstand on one side, so I assumed the other side was mine. While
Justin was in the bathroom brushing his teeth I surreptitiously looked in
the nightstand on my side, feeling like I was snooping even though I had
every right to be there, according to both people who owned the house, and
saw that the drawers were all empty. I was laying on JC's side of the bed,
in JC's bedroom, next to JC's best friend and soul mate and boyfriend, and
I was the only one who would admit to being uncomfortable with it. Even if
Justin was my boyfriend now, this was just freaky and weird and fucked up,
and, once again, Joey was right. This couldn't be good for any of us.

"Hey," Justin whispered, sliding across the mattress. They were the softest
sheets I'd ever slept on, not silk, but some kind of smoothly brushed
cotton or something.  Justin's hand touched my back, very soft and
tentative, and I leaned back a little to let him know it was ok. He pulled
me toward him as he slid closer, draping his arm over my chest as he drew
me back against him. I felt his chest settling against me, smooth skin and
hard muscle, and his thighs tucked in behind mine like we were pieces of
the same puzzle.  Justin's voice was a soft, husky whisper when he finally
spoke. "I love being here, like this, with you."

"Me too," I whispered. I guess this was the wrong time to ask if maybe he
wanted to switch to one of the other bedrooms. "I'm glad you're happy,
baby."

"Really?" he whispered, his voice taking on a different tone. He started to
kiss the top of my shoulder. I could feel his groin against me, and he
wasn't hard, but it was probably only a matter of seconds before that
changed. His hand across my chest started rubbing my side. "Want to see how
happy I am?"

"No," I answered, catching hold of his hand with mine. I pressed it back to
my chest, holding it in place, but could feel that he was surprised. No way
in hell were Justin and I christening the bed with things left like that
between us. "Let's just go to sleep."

"Are you serious?" he asked, still frozen.

"Yes," I answered, smirking. "Remember when I asked you to apologize to JC
for hurting his feelings when he was just trying to be your friend? You
think about that, and then we'll talk."

Justin chuckled against me, which wasn't exactly the response I was going
for.

"You're going to withhold sex from me until I apologize?" he asked. He gave
my shoulder one last kiss. "OK, we'll see how long that lasts. Good night,
Chris."

"Good night, Justin."

I woke up before him in the morning, and slid out of bed using my tried and
true pillow substitution as he murmured and tried to hold onto me. After
showering quickly and dressing down in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt I
checked on him, but he was still out cold, and I knew he didn't have
anything to do today, so I decided to let him sleep, pulling the sheet up
tightly over him and rubbing his head for a minute until I was sure he was
settled again. I got my book off of the nightstand and closed the bedroom
door behind me before heading downstairs to the kitchen. Walking down the
steps, I smelled something cooking, and as I got closer I could tell that
it was bacon, frying audibly in a pan, and heard someone singing. I wasn't
sure, since the words were murmured and quiet, but it actually seemed kind
of like an old spiritual, a little bit of gospel, maybe.

I walked into the kitchen and saw JC at the stove with his back to me. He
was dressed about the same as I was, but barefoot, and I wondered if he had
something against shoes.  He always seemed to be barefoot or in sandals. He
was working with a couple of pans, and there was a plate next to him on one
side of the stove. On the other side there was a collection of breakfast
stuff: an opened carton of eggs, a carton of milk (two percent, not skim),
a little package of shredded cheddar, an open package of bacon.  Somehow it
shoulder have seemed messy, but it looked ordered, not haphazard,
everything neatly laid out. On the table I saw a glass, a carton of orange
juice, a set of silverware on a neatly folded paper napkin, and a bottle of
Tabasco sauce.

It seemed odd, somehow, to see him just working on a standard, if large,
breakfast, as in the back of my mind I just always kind of thought that
people like this wouldn't buy their own groceries or cook their own
food. Justin seemed to bear that out by ordering food every time he was
responsible for dinner at my place. The only time he had actually helped
prepare anything was when I started it, and even then he only did stuff
like making a salad. It was more likely that, living in hotels for most of
his teenage years, or on a tour bus, he just didn't know how to cook,
whereas JC, from the little bit I knew, had lived on his own somewhere
between the Mickey Mouse Club and Nsync. Then again, I had no idea if "on
his own" meant by himself, or with someone else.

"Good morning," I said, not wanting to startle him.

"Hey, good morning," he said, smiling. It was a no teeth smile, just an
upcurl of his mouth, but at least it wasn't hostile. He nodded toward a set
of canisters on the counter.  "Justin said that you drink coffee, and you
had it on the grocery list, but I didn't know how you make it, or when you
guys were getting up."

"Justin isn't up yet," I said, smiling, and JC rolled his eyes. I could see
the coffeemaker, a simple to use but obviously expensive model, gleaming on
the counter. Did they have a housekeeper, or was JC also the one behind
this gleaming perfection? And when did I start noticing stuff like that?
"Cups?"

"Cups are in that cabinet, filters are in that one over there," he
answered, pointing. "I'm guessing he'll sleep for another couple
hours. We're all like that on our days off.  Sometimes I crave sleep so
much that when I actually do it, I dream about being asleep.  It's weird."

"But you're up today," I pointed out, closing up the coffeemaker and
filling the pot at the sink. I was starting to get Justin onto my coffee
habit, so I included enough for him, too, figuring that these guys had to
have a carafe somewhere in one of these cabinets, or at least a
thermos. "You're not off?"

He turned back to his pan, quickly, looking down and giving the eggs a stir
with the spatula.

"I couldn't sleep," he answered quietly. His voice rose back up to the
pleasant tone he'd had so fast that it was like I hadn't just heard
him. "Do you want some eggs? I was making them, you know, for breakfast,
but I don't mind throwing in a couple more if you want some."

"Sure," I answered, wondering if I should push it. Then again, the reason
why he couldn't sleep was either because he was upset about what Justin had
said last night, upset about me being here, or upset about some combination
of both. Did I really feel like opening that can of worms before I'd even
had a cup of coffee?

"You want cheese in them?" he asked, and I nodded, shrugging a little. JC
smiled, again that little half smile, and went back to the pan, cracking a
couple more eggs into it and adding some milk. He dropped the eggshells
onto a folded square of paper towels with the others, and I wondered again
if there was anything about him that wasn't perfect. The thought was unfair
to him, but that didn't stop me from thinking that way.  JC, oblivious to
my mental comparisons of him and Martha Stewart, babbled on over his frying
pan.

"I know it's kind of weird, since they're scrambled eggs, not an omelet or
something, but my mother always put cheese in them when we were little, and
I guess I just can't get over the taste. My dad always ate them with
Tabasco, even though my mom didn't, so I guess I really just like this kind
of amalgamation of their tastes put together. I know everyone doesn't eat
them that way, and if you want ketchup there's a bottle in the fridge if
you just want to grab it, or you can share the Tabasco, too. You should
probably grab a plate, too. Hey, do you want bacon?"

"Uh, yeah, really crispy" I answered, realizing that he was babbling to
cover what he'd just said about not sleeping. It gave us both an out,
though, so I was happy to take the bait when he offered it. I went to get
myself a plate from the cabinet he'd nodded toward. If nothing else, at
least he was showing me the way around the kitchen. "Are you close to them?
Your mom and dad?"

"We used to be," he answered, looking down again. Shit. I was batting a
thousand already this morning. "They, um, we're not like we were. I mean,
it's not like Justin and Lynn, thank goodness, because I just couldn't deal
with the screaming and the crying and everything else. They just, we're a
little distant now. How about you?  Things good with your family?"

"Yeah," I answered, nodding. The coffee was brewing up nicely, adding a
layer of scent to the already warm, homey kitchen. I was leaning on the
counter, unsure of how a kitchen this big could feel cozy, but it was nice
hanging out with JC and getting to know him a little better. "It was rough
for a while, but we get along pretty well now."

"That's good," he said, nodding. "Brothers or sisters?"

"Only child," I answered. "I count April as family, like the sister I never
had. If, of course, my sister was kind of spoiled and impulsive but still a
sweetheart."

I smiled when I said it, and JC nodded, smiling, too.

"Yeah, that's April," he agreed. "No wonder her and Justin get along so
well."

"How about you? Brothers or sisters?" I asked, finally pouring myself a cup
of coffee. I had forgotten to put creamer on the grocery list, but when I
looked in the refrigerator I saw that JC had anticipated me, and there were
a few bottles of expensive flavored creamers that it would probably be best
for me not to get used to what with my grocery budget at home. When I
turned back around he was pushing the sugar bowl toward me, and opening it
I saw packets of sugar and artificial sweetener. I guess I could add
"thoughtful" to "perfect" if I wanted to feel even worse about myself.

"Tyler and Heather," he answered, switching off the stove. "One of each
flavor, but both younger. Grab your plate."

I held both plates and he halved the eggs, sliding equal portions onto
both.  He followed it with the bacon, and then we both sat at the table,
him with a big glass of juice and me with a huge steaming cup of
coffee. JC, like Justin, paused for a second over his food, eyes closed,
and I wondered if I was going to have to start doing that. He opened his
eyes as I watched him, and our gazes locked for a second before I looked
away.

"So, is Chris short for Christopher, or just Chris by itself?" he asked,
practically drowning his eggs in Tabasco.

"It's Christopher," I answered. I guess he didn't get the report from Lynn
and Chris's private investigator, or else he was just politely pretending
not to have.  "And JC?"

"When I joined the Club, there was already a Josh," he explained, smiling
contentedly as he chewed his eggs. "So I became JC. Joshua Chasez, uh,
Chasez."

I smirked, and he caught it before I could make any comments.

"Not a word," he said, shaking his head. "I've heard it all before."

"I didn't say a thing," I said, holding up my hands innocently. "You, um,
got a middle name, Joshua Chasez Chasez?"

"Scott," he answered, rolling his brilliantly blue green eyes toward the
ceiling. "How about you, Christopher Vanderhall?"

"Lucas," I answered. "But I never use that, ever."

"Darn," he said, shaking his head. "I was hoping we could give you another
name."

"What's wrong with the one I have?" I asked, chewing. That had come right
out of left field. "These are good eggs, by the way."

"I didn't mean it like that!" he said quickly. "Not in a bad way or
anything. It's just that you and Chris have the same name, and if you're
going to be around for a while we need a way of telling you apart, you
know?"

As much as the idea that I needed a name change surprised me, the thought
that JC wanted to accommodate me staying around for a while almost knocked
me off of my seat. Why was he being so nice to me? Why was he trying to be
my buddy, cooking me breakfast and chatting over our eggs like the two of
us were just really good friends?  Why wasn't he being jealous and snippy
and petty and all the things that being around him when Justin was nearby
made me?

"We could go with last names," I suggested lamely. "Or just the initials,
since it worked for you."

"Yeah, but then you'd be Chris V.," he said, chuckling a little. He had a
good laugh, like Justin's. "It makes you sound like a sequel, like another
'Rocky' movie or something.  'Hey, there's Nsync, and their friend Chris
Five!'"

We both laughed at that, even if it was a pretty sorry joke.

"You could just keep calling us both Chris," I said finally. "I mean,
honestly, it will probably be obvious which one you're talking to."

"What do you mean?" he asked, waiting. We were both almost done with
breakfast.

"Well, you know," I answered, shrugging. "We just seem like pretty
different people, at least from what I've seen."

"Not so much," JC said thoughtfully. "You're both opinionated, and neither
one of you is afraid to speak your minds, at least from what I've
seen. You're both loyal, too."

I frowned, chewing long enough to frame my thoughts without being hurtful.
JC and I were getting along so well that I didn't want to blow it.

"JC, I see what you're trying to do," I began, and he raised an eyebrow
thoughtfully.  "Trying to get me to see that Chris and I have this common
ground and maybe someday we'll be friends or something like that. It's a
good thought, but it's not going to happen."

"Why not?" he asked. His tone was light, not accusatory. Maybe he really
couldn't imagine that people might not be able to forgive each other and
get along.

"Because I have limits," I answered. "What he did, I wouldn't do that. I
wouldn't bully someone or threaten them."

"But you kneed him in the nuts," JC pointed out, again his tone a lot
lighter than the thought behind it.

"As a defensive gesture," I pointed out. "I kind of wish I hadn't done it,
because I'm sure it's not going to help anything, but he drove me to
it. Maybe you don't understand that, but."

"No, I don't," he answered. "I, the way I was raised, we consider it wrong
to hurt someone else. I guess if it was self defense, I could see it, and
maybe this was. The way he's treated you and Justin is completely
unacceptable. I wish I'd known what he was doing, the things he was saying
to both of you. That really wasn't his place, or something he should have
been doing."

I was about to ask him what he would have done if he had known, but his
phone rang, the soft chimes cutting in, breaking our mood a little. He
pulled it off of his waist, checking the display, and frowned
uncomfortably, biting his bottom lip a little.  Immediately the thought
that it must be Chris popped into my head. I'd be a little thrown if he
called me right when we were talking about him, too. I touched JC's forearm
lightly, and his head snapped up as the phone continued to ring.

"Answer it," I said, gesturing toward the door with my head. "I'll get the
dishes."

"Um, ok, sure," he said, swallowing. He got up, lifting his chair a little
as he stood so that it didn't scrape on the floor and make an annoying
noise, and walked out of the room as he flipped his phone open. "Good
morning."

I got up, my chair making an obnoxious noise on the floor because I was not
perfect, and gathered our plates up, stacking them and laying the
silverware on top before I carried them over to the sink. I rinsed them off
and dropped them into the dishwasher, racking them along with a few other
dishes that were already in there, even though the ones there looked clean
already. Doubtlessly JC had rinsed them well enough to carefully remove
every trace of food and almost render washing them unnecessary, while I had
just run enough water over them to knock off the bigger chunks. I sighed
over the open dishwasher, realizing that I really, desperately needed to
stop doing this to myself, because it was getting to be ridiculous. JC was
not a godly creature who existed on some other plane of existence that I
would never be able to aspire to or hope to attain.

As a matter of fact, he was probably in the hall saying something imperfect
to Chris right now, and as soon as I thought it I had the urge to go
listen. Sure, it was eavesdropping, and sure, that was bad. On the other
hand, was it really any kind of moral infraction if they were talking about
me? I was practically part of the conversation already, so I might as well
hear it. At least, that's what I told myself as I peered into the
hallway. I continued telling myself that what I was doing was not, in fact,
completely inappropriate even as I slid down the hall, quiet as a mouse as
I followed JC's voice toward the music room. He was speaking softly, so
that I couldn't pick out the words until I was right at the doorway,
pressed against it and watching his shadow on the wall so I would know if
he started to leave the room.

"I feel like," he began, pausing, and I could tell immediately by his tone
that this wasn't Chris. His voice, the pitch and the wince and the sound of
other things I couldn't quite place, matched the way he had sounded the
other day when I'd almost walked in on his phone call in Johnny's
bathroom. The only difference was that was accidental and this was
deliberate. "I feel like the only time you call, the only reason, is for."

His voice cut off, and I assumed that whoever was on the other end had
broken in. The only reason was what? What?

"No, I'm sorry," he said quickly. "No, I, please don't say that to me. I
didn't mean it like that. I just, yes, yes, I know. I know. I'm sorry. I
said I was sorry. What do you mean I don't sound like, no, that's not
fair. That's not, I was just trying to tell you how I feel.  You asked what
I was thinking, and that's it. I feel like the only time you call me is
when she's gone."

She who? Oh my God!

I knew who was on the phone! All the pieces were there! Justin told me that
JC's first boyfriend was a closeted bisexual who made him feel bad about
himself, and he certainly sounded like he felt bad right now. He sounded
tortured, and I wanted to say something to make him feel better, but then
I'd have to tell him I was listening. This was the guy that JC had cheated
on Justin with, that he still had contact with, and he was right here, on
the phone!

"No, I guess I misunderstood," JC said quickly, sounding a little confused.
"I, oh. I guess, I, you just want to hang out? I'm, I already said I was
sorry. Please. I am.  I didn't mean to, no, no, I wasn't saying you're,
no. I know you're not like that. I know.  No. No, you can't come over
here."

He wanted to come over here? No, hell no! Justin would freak!

"I know that, but Justin's here," JC continued. "He moved back in last
night, him and Chris both. No, not Kirkpatrick. Justin's new boyfriend,
remember? I told you about him.  No, he, I, no, we're not. Do we have to
talk about this over the phone? I'd really rather not get into this."

I saw the shadow shift, and heard a footfall. JC was about to leave the
music room! I raced back down the hall, almost tripping myself, and my feet
actually slid across the floor as I lunged for my chair, wondering why I
hadn't left it out. For a horrifying second I thought that I might slip and
spill myself completely onto the floor, cracking my head open and making a
complete ass out of myself, but somehow I made it into my seat as I heard
JC pause in the hallway. Looking down with maybe two seconds to spare, I
saw that my coffee cup was entirely too full for someone who had been
sitting in the kitchen alone this whole time, and took a huge gulp. JC
walked in just as I realized that the coffee was still pretty hot, and that
my entire mouth was now on fire.

This had to be my karmic punishment for eavesdropping.

"Hi," JC said, running a hand through his hair, pushing the waves back from
his face.  "Thanks for getting the dishes."

"No problem," I rasped, doing my best to sound normal. My body had insisted
on trying to spit all that coffee out, and instead I'd forced myself to
swallow it, feeling it burn all the way down and into my stomach.

"I'm, uh," he began, shifting a little, uncomfortable. He smiled, suddenly,
but it didn't seem the same, even if it looked exactly like the old
one. Maybe it was because I knew that he was forcing it. So much of what I
saw here was show, just like it had been at the photo shoot the other
day. "I'm going to hang out with a friend for a while, so I guess you and
Justin have the house to yourselves for the day."

"Oh, ok," I said, shrugging. "Maybe if you're back later, and you're not
doing anything else, we could all have dinner together or something."

"Yeah," he answered noncommittally. "Maybe."

***

To be continued.