Pairing: Chris and Joey
Words: chair o' sex; mesh shirt; Mtv; straight


Chris had a theory that all guys were inherently bisexual.

Not actively bisexual, necessarily, just innately.  As in, 'will
fuck anything that doesn't move too much'.  He was still working on
the fine points of his hypothesis, but he thought even the
supposedly straight guys were bi.  Especially the supposedly
straight guys.  Eminem?  Marilyn Manson?  Please.  Methinks the
lady doth protest too much.

Plus he was pretty sure that kicking wasn't what Marshall Mathers
wanted to do to his fine ass.

He was all fine and happy with that theory until the day they got
the proofs back from the chair o' sex photo shoot.

"Hey," Chris said, flipping past the photos of the other guys to
the picture of himself.  "I'm fucking sexy.  And hot, too.  Wowsa!"

"Way to go with the narcissism," Lance drawled, looking over his
shoulder.  "Good to see that the therapy is paying off."

"Shut up, Bass.  You look like a tool.  You should've just worn the
mesh shirt they gave you in the first place."

Lance looked at his proofs.  "We can't all be sex idols.  Oh, wait
-- no, I was wrong, we can."  He gave Chris a sardonic smile.  "It
doesn't matter what I'm wearing and you know it."

"Sure it does.  Hey, Joey.  Look at this.  I'm just too sexy for my
shirt, aren't I?"

Joey looked at the photo and shrugged.  "I guess the shirt doesn't
look too stupid."

Chris boggled.  "Doesn't look *too* stupid?  I'll have you know I'm
a smoldering icon of masculinity there, suitable for
around-the-clock video coverage by MTV."  He shoved the photo at
Lance.  "Aren't I?"

"Well, yeah," Lance said, "but Chris..."

"But what?"

"Joey's straight."

"He *can't* be that straight.  No man is that straight."  He
bounded across the room to Justin and thrust the photo at him. 
"I'm sexy, you know it.  Tell Lance he's wrong and you want me. 
Look at me.  You know you want to fuck me right there in that
chair."

"God, Chris, could you *be* any more of a freak?"  Chris shook his
head.  "No, I don't want to fuck you in the chair.  I don't want to
fuck you here or there, I don't want to fuck you anywhere."

"I take it from the bad Dr. Seuss that you want to fuck Lance,
despite the stupid shirt with the patches?"

Justin took the sheaf of pictures and hit Chris over the head with
it.  "No, dumbass.  I'm saying, 'Ew,' I'm not into that.  It's just
gross, man."

"On the behalf of all gay men, and specifically Lance, I'm
offended."

"I'm not offended," Lance said.  "I don't want to have sex with you
either."

"Shut up, Bass.  J, you're deep in denial, and I want to be there
the day you realize you've been secretly lusting after me for
years, because I'm going to laugh."

"Laugh?  Somehow I don't think that's going to be your reaction."

"Shut up, Bass."

"Aww," Justin cooed, wrapping his arm around Chris' shoulders. 
"Does Chrissy-poo have a crush on me?  That's so sweet."

"Do not.  Besides, this isn't about me.  It's about... okay, well,
it is about me, but it's about the fact that all of you want me,
you just don't know it yet.  Look."  Chris brandished the photos
again, but Lance had retreated to a corner of the room to work on
his laptop; JC had never looked up from where he was bent over his
notebook, Walkman on his ears; and Justin was still snickering.

"Fuckers."  Chris looked at Joey, who was innocently sipping his
coffee.  "C'mon, Joe, you find me attractive.  You know you do."

Joey shrugged.  "No, not really.  Guys just don't do anything for
me.  Never have."

Chris looked at him suspiciously.  "Just don't do anything for you? 
As in, you could care less?"

"Right."

Joey didn't reiterate his straightness, just kept drinking his
coffee, as though his masculinity were completely unthreatened by
this conversation.  Chris knew better.  All men were bi.  The more
they protested and acted like it was a problem, the more closeted
they were.  "So you don't think any guys are hot?  Not JC, not Vin
Diesel, not AJ, not Raggedy Andy?"

"Nope.  And, Chris, *Raggedy Andy*?"

This new data was seriously messing with his theory.  "What about
two girls?  You think it's hot to see two girls get it on, right? 
Like lesbians in porn and stuff like that?"

"No, not really."

Chris stared at him.  Justin wrinkled his nose.  "Joey, that's just
wrong."

"They just don't do anything for me."

"But you like sex...?"

Joey looked amused.  "Yeah."

"Just not gay sex.  Of any kind."

"Yep."

Justin made a face.  "Dude, that's just wrong.  One girl is hot;
two girls are hotter.  It's a simple little equation."

"Sorry."

Chris sat down heavily.  Okay.  Refigure.  So 99% of all men were
bi.  On the scale of 0 to 10, where 0 was gay and 10 totally
straight, nearly all men fell somewhere around 7.  They *thought*
they were 10s, but they weren't.  They were 7, at the most 8 or 9. 
Some a lot less than that.  Lance was probably a 3.  Joey, on the
other hand, was something he thought didn't even exist.  A true 10. 
A man who was completely, 100% straight, who wasn't in denial about
his sexuality, who simply didn't care about any of the other
possibilities.

Wow.  That really messed with his head.

"But, you know," Joey said suddenly, looking up from his coffee
cup, "what really turns me on is when chicks, like, start fingering
me.  Y'know?  Like put their fingers up inside when they're blowing
me.  I just wish more of them were into anal sex."

Okay, Chris thought, new theory.  Joey was an idiot.  "You mean, so
you're into all the things a gay guy would be into, but with
girls?"

Joey thought about that.  "I guess.  So?  What's your point?"

"I'm hot?"

"Good for you, dude.  You going to drink your coffee or what?"