Pairing: JC and Chris
Words: enterprise; carrot; immortal; phrasebook


"No, really, he's immortal."  JC shoves a copy of The Celery Stalks
at Midnight into Chris's hands.  "And the carrots try to get him,
but Bunnicula gets away.  It's really, really cool."  Then he
frowns.  "I think.  The German/English phrasebook was a little
vague on carrots.  Maybe it was a cucumber."

"All I'm saying is that even vampire rabbits have to have a nemesis
or there's no plot.  You *need* a nemesis."

"That's the *carrots*, Chris!"

"Yeah, but they're just carrots.  They're like food for him.  They
threaten him, he chomps them.  It's like Joey being threatened by
doughnuts.  Or beer.  Please, please, threaten me with beer."

JC frowns.  "He's only a rabbit, Chris."

"So?  He needs a nemesis.  There's no point without a nemesis."

JC blinks.  "Who's our nemesis?"

"Backstreet."

"But-- they don't really threaten us.  We like them."

Chris rolls his eyes.  "Trust me, they're our nemesis."

JC sits down suddenly, like his strings have been cut.  "Chris, I'm
*nice* to them," he says horrified.  "What if they're trying to get
me to tell them secrets?"

Chris snickers.  "Like what?  The key to the Lance dance?  The
secret formula to being less popular than they are?"

JC nods silently.

"I solemnly swear that there's no reason why they'd have any
interest in any of those things.  Besides, we're the ones trying to
destroy them, not the other way around.  You're like a spy, trying
to discover *their* secrets."

"I am?"

"Yep."

"What should I try to find out?"

"Oh, you're already doing just fine.  For example, we now know AJ
snores in his sleep and Kevin has a taste for long-haired
brunettes."

JC blushes.  "Oh."

"When our evil dictator comes to maturity, he'll be able to use all
of that information to destroy them easily."

"Justin?  Justin is in charge?"

Chris snorts.  "Are you kidding?  He's the bait.  The eye candy. 
The distraction."

"Lance?" JC asks tentatively.

"Got it in two."

"No, Chris.  Lance is too sweet!  He shouldn't be the dictator."

"See?  He's perfect.  He's got you fooled too with those big green
eyes and that drawl and those perfect manners.  He's gonna be
amazing."

JC's lower lip trembles.  "What if he doesn't like me?"

"Then you're out on the street."  Chris sees the tremble.  "Just
kidding.  Lance adores you."

JC sniffles.  "When he's dictator, he won't."

"Why's that?  He's still gonna need his best spy."

"I'm not a good spy.  He'll probably sell me to the circus and I'll
have to be a freak for the rest of my life," JC says glumly.  He
can see it now, his future all stretched out in tents.  With *rain*
and *dirt* for floors.  And *elephants*.  Elephants are scary. 
Dumbo scarred JC for life.

"No way!  Lance would never sell anyone off.  He has a complex. 
Because of the whole BMG-icky-German-guy thing.  He'd never get rid
of one of us.  Besides.  This is a closed shop."

"What's that mean?"

"It's a family enterprise.  You, me, Lance, Joey and Justin."

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad I got high with you."

"Anytime, baby.  So you think maybe Lance is gonna be the kind of
guy who'd sleep with his subordinates?  Like maybe the short,
dark-haired ones?"

"Maybe."  JC frowns.  "Chris?  Is it time to make out yet?  Because
your homo-erotic tendencies are showing and you're kinda hot."

"Dunno.  Are you a double agent?  'Cause if you're gonna be telling
Howie all about this, it's a no go."

"Nope."

"Oh, good," Chris says and stretches out on top of JC.  "'Cause,
y'know.  We evil villains can't be too careful."

JC nods.  "Make out.  Now."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Bond, sir!" Chris says smartly and sticks his tongue
in JC's mouth.