Pairing: Chris and JC
Words: pixie; condescending; becoming; anti-christ


Chris straightened the couch cushion, sat down on the couch, then
sprang up again, pacing nervously.  "JC's coming over," he
announced.

"I know," Justin said, from his position on one of the kitchen bar
stools, looking down over the living room.  He grinned at Chris. 
"That's only the seventy-second time you've mentioned it."

"JC is coming over.  Here.  Coming over *here*."  Chris sat down,
then stood up and looked around his living room again, as though it
had suddenly mutated in the last fifteen seconds into something
alien.  "Eep."

"Dude, it's JC."

"Exactly.  JC.  Eep."

Lance came out of the kitchen, sipping on his glass of orange
juice, and watched Chris scramble over toward the TV and start
frantically rearranging his videogame cartridges and then, in a
burst of inspiration, move on to his CDs, which JC was more likely
to be interested in anyway.  "How long has he been doing this?"

"You mean how long's he been running around like this, or how long
I've been watching him doing it?"

Lance raised an eyebrow.  "He's been doing this since before you
got here?"

"Dude, I think he's been doing it ever since JC called him and told
him he wanted to 'talk'--" Justin made air quotes "--with him."

Chris came over to them, three Cds in hand.  "Which of these do you
think JC would like most?"

Justin took them and scrutinized them solemnly.  Puddle of Mudd. 
An Adam Sandler album.  The soundtrack to 'The Best Little
Whorehouse in Texas'.  Justin held the last one up, impressed. 
"Hey.  I *love* this movie."

Lance took the CD away from Justin, then thought about it and took
the other two away from him as well.  "Jazz," he said firmly. 
"Something instrumental if you have it.  If not, then Billie
Holiday or Ella Fitzgerald."

Chris' eyes lit up.  "Ella!"  He scrambled for the stereo system.

Lance looked at the CDs and shuddered.  He made sure Chris wasn't
looking and dropped the soundtrack in the garbage can.

"Hey!" Justin protested, and rescued it.  "That's great music,
dawg."

Lance shook his head.  "Not in my world, it's not."

"You're a condescending prick, you know that?"

"It's been mentioned before, yes.  But only by people with no taste
and less class."

Justin smirked at him.  "I taste just fine, thanks.  Ask anyone."

Lance narrowed his eyes, then called over to Chris.  "Hey, Chris. 
How does Justin taste?"

Chris looked up from the stereo, a jewel case in his mouth.  He
spit it out.  He didn't look pixie-ish at the moment.  He looked
like a demented cat burglar with a color-coordination disorder. 
"Sweat, cologne and Irish Spring.  Why?"

"No reason," Lance said, eyes on Justin, both eyebrows raised now.

"Can't you fuckers see I'm busy?" Chris grumbled and went back to
sorting through his CDs.

"So, Justin, why does Chris know how you taste, and what does this
have to do with JC coming over?" Lance asked in a deceptively mild
voice.

"C'mon, Lance.  You know."

"No, I don't.  What I see is Chris, acting like JC is the love of
his life-- hey."

At the word 'love', Justin had put his hands over his ears and
started chanting, "La la la la la," frantically.

Lance grabbed Justin's left hand and pried it away from his ear. 
"What do you think you're doing?"

"Protecting myself against the evil L word."  Justin looked at him
suspiciously.  "You gonna say it again?"

"What?  Love?"

"La la la la la la."

Lance slapped at Justin's hands irritably.  "Stop acting like a
three-year-old."

Justin stuck his tongue out at Lance.  "I'm not acting like a
three-year-old.  I'm acting like any man when confronted by that
word."

"Uh-huh.  And you never told Britney you loved her."

Hands over ears again.  Lance rolled his eyes and kicked Justin. 
"Okay, I won't say the L-word anymore."

"Or the B word."

"You're freaking out because I said *Britney*?"

"La la la la la."

Lance stared at him.  Justin lowered his hands cautiously.

"Brit--"

"La la la la la."

Lance snickered.

"Dude," Justin complained when he lowered his hands again, "you're
mean."

"This is news how?  And by the way, I hear Britney's little
sister..."

Hands safely over his ears, Justin stuck out his tongue at Lance.

"Yeah, that's mature."

Justin lowered his hands.  "You're the Anti-Christ."

"Britney, Britney, Britney, Britney..."

Justin screamed and ran to Chris for protection.  He crouched on
the floor next to Chris, peeking out at Lance from behind Chris'
smaller form.

Lance smirked and opened his mouth again.

Justin whimpered and clung to Chris.  "Make the bad man stop."

"Lance, stop playing with Justin," Chris said, not looking up.  "Or
if you're going to play with him, go play with him at your own
house.  Aha!"  He held up a CD triumphantly, then popped the disc
out of the case and into the player.  He turned the stereo system
on and pushed play.  Music blasted from the speakers.  Justin
covered his ears and gave Chris a reproachful look.  Chris grinned. 
"Oops.  Volume."  He turned it down.

"So," he said rubbing his hands together.  "We've got music."

"And JC's coming over," Lance observed.

"Eep!"  Chris jumped up.  "CDs on the floor, bad.  Got to get this
mess cleaned up.  And food!  Need food.  And entertainment."  He
looked hopefully at Lance.  "Do you think C would like dancing
girls?"

"Short of him having mysteriously becoming straight overnight, no."

"But he likes dancing."

"Chris, no.  If JC is coming over to see you, then presumably he
wants to see you, and not a Las Vegas cabaret show.  But, as long
as we're on the topic, have you considered that maybe you're
stressing too much?  It is just JC."

"Bite your tongue.  'Just JC'.  Hmph.  JC's..." Chris waved his
hands.  "Special.  Wonderful.  Mysterious."

"Bendy," Justin offered helpfully.

"Exactly!  Flexible.  Talented.  Determined.  Eep."  Chris was
peering around again, ignoring the mess of CDs he'd made on the
floor.

Lance came over to the couch and sat down, near Justin, who was
still sitting on the floor, watching Chris.  "So," Lance said,
"*why* is Chris freaking out over someone visiting him who he's
known for nearly a third of his life and whose ears he's put
*beans* in before on multiple occasions?"

"Chris L-words JC."

"You're three."

"No, I'm male.  Anyway, he L-words JC and he doesn't think JC
L-words him back."

"Of course JC lo--" Lance saw Justin raising his hands.  "L-words
Chris."

"Yeah, but Chris is crushing on JC.  Y'know.  And JC isn't crushing
on Chris."

"Ah."

"Because if JC was crushing, he'd be writing songs and being all
dreamy and stuff, y'know."

"You mean he'd be acting exactly like he usually does."

"No, he wouldn't.  It'd be different."

"Uh-huh.  Sure.  Look -- I know this idea is going to come as a
considerable shock to y'all, but have you ever though of maybe
*telling* JC that Chris lo-- L-words him?"

"Yeah, right.  Like that ever works."

"This is JC you're talking about."

"See?"

Lance rolled his eyes and called over to Chris, who had started
dusting.  Dusting, for the love of God.  "Chris, just tell JC you
love him."

Chris looked up, eyes wide, like a small furry creature caught in
headlights right before being smashed into a bloody pulp.  "No!"

"Why not?"

"Because!"

"Because why?" Lance asked patiently.

"Then he'd know and he'd know that I know, and then he'd... eep! 
Okay?  Eep!"

"Chris, 'eep' isn't a rational argument."

"Is so."

"Is -- never mind."  Lance looked down at Justin, who, now that the
dreaded L-word was no longer being spoken, had started sorting
through the discarded CDs, and pulled his cell phone out of his
pocket, flipped it open, hit speed dial and held it to his ear. 
"JC?  Yeah, it's Lance.  Guess what?  No.  I didn't get you Sting
tickets for your birthday.  Sure.  You want them, they're yours. 
No, look, I had a reason for calling.  Chris, you remember Chris,
right?  Yes, the one in the group.  Well, he's in love with you. 
Uh-huh.  Justin?  What do you mean he's in love with Justin?"

Justin put his hands over his ears and started singing "La la la
la" again.  Lance kicked him.

"Sorry, JC, I can't hear you.  Justin's being a pain.  I'm gonna
get to the bottom of this.  But I swear, Chris is nuts.  Okay, yes,
Chris is always nuts, I know.  More nuts than usual.  How can I
tell?  He's dusting.  Grown men do not dust.  No, JC, I didn't mean
to imply that you aren't a man.  Never mind, just trust me about
the love thing.  What do you mean you don't trust me?  Fine, be
that way."

Lance flipped his phone shut and kicked Justin again.  "Why does JC
think you lo-- L-word Chris?"

Justin shrugged.  "Dunno.  But, man, stop kicking me, okay?  I'd be
getting bruises if you weren't such a girly-man."

Lance kicked him again.  "Seriously.  Why does he think you're in
love with Chris?  And get your hands off your ears.  You look
stupid."

"I don't know.  I mean, we've been having sex off-and-on for years
now.  If he was going to L-word me, he'd've done it by now."

Lance blinked.  "You and Chris?"

"Duh.  Like you've never done it."

"Justin, I can safely say I have never had sex with Chris
Kirkpatrick.  I'd remember."

"Well, why not?  He's good at it.  Really really good at it.  He
does this thing--"

"Did I ask?"

Justin shrugged.  "I don't see what you're making such a big deal
about.  It's just sex.  And, plus, you know, he's my best friend,
so I'd have to kick JC's ass if he hurts Chris, but y'know, I'm not
a girly man like you, so I'm totally all over that."

"I can't believe you."

"Oh, what?  Like you L-word everyone you have sex with."

"At least I'm not having sex with one of my best friends."

"And what do you call Joey then?"

"I am not having sex with Joey!"  Lance's face was dangerously
close to purple.

"Oh."  Justin nibbled on his bottom lip.  "So what you're saying
then is that if Chris manages to land JC, you're up for grabs
then?"

Lance stared at Justin, speechless.  After a minute, he started
shaking his head slowly from side to side in tiny movements, then
larger and larger ones.  He stood up and backed away.  "No wonder
JC thinks that."

"Is that a no?"

"No!"

"So it's a yes then.  Great!"  Justin bounded to his feet, knocking
over the haphazard stack of CD cases he'd been building and sending
them crashing to the floor.  "Who's the man?  Oh, yeah.  Oh, yeah. 
Justin's the man."

Lance continued shaking his head, bemused, watching as Justin did
a combination victory dance/lambada around him.  He opened his cell
phone and dialed.  "JC?  Yeah, Lance.  Yes, Lance Bass.  What,
Lance Armstrong calls you a lot?  No, never mind, I don't want to
know.  I *said* I don't want to know.  Yes, I'm sure he's a
perfectly nice person.  JC.  Yes.  I've been talking to Justin and
I'm pretty sure you don't have anything to worry about.  Justin
doesn't L-word Chris.  Huh?  Oh.  Yeah.  L-word.  No, not lick. 
Love.  What do you mean I sound like a three-year-old?  It wasn't
my idea to -- never mind.  It isn't important.  What's important is
that Chris is crazy about you.  He's," Lance looked around and
paled.  Chris was dragging a vacuum cleaner down the hall toward
the living room.  "JC, you have no idea how serious this is. 
Chris.  *Chris* is vacuuming.  What do you mean, real people
vacuum?  That's what house cleaning services are for.  I'm *not* an
elitist snob.  I just have better things to do than vacuum my
carpets.  JC.  JC--"  Lance brought his phone down from his ear and
stared at it.  "He hung up on me."

"Someone's in trouble," Justin sing-songed.

Lance sniffed and dropped the phone back into his pocket.  "It's
not my fault I know how to delegate."

"This is JC you're talking about.  Unemployment, the Industrial
Revolution, global warming and Bill Gates are all your fault."

"Unemployment is not my fault."

"But Bill Gates is?"

"Maybe.  The terms of the lawsuit prohibit me from talking about
it."  Lance smirked.

"And global warming?"

"An unexpected side effect of my overall plan to take over the
world.  It's a feature, not a bug."

"You're scary, man."

Lance raised an eyebrow.  "You want to have sex with me.  What does
that make you?"

"A risk-taker?"  Justin sidled up to Lance and leaned against him.

Lance shifted to allow for Justin's weight.  Nodding toward Chris,
frantically running the vacuum over the floor, an action that would
have been more useful if he had remembered to turn on the appliance
in question, Lance asked. "So you think it's gonna work?  JC seemed
kinda stand-offish on the phone.  He acted like he barely knew who
Chris was.  I dunno if he wants Chris as much as Chris seems to
want him, and maybe JC is capable of being oblivious to everything,
but I think Chris is going to get hurt if JC blows him off."

Justin wrapped his arm around Lance's waist and snickered.

Lance elbowed him.  "What's so funny?"

"You.  You don't know JC very well, do you?"

"And you do?"

"Duh.  I only share a bus with him half of the year.  Of course I
know him."

"Enlighten me, oh wise one."

Justin poked him in the ribs for the sarcasm, then said, "You think
you're so smart.  Fact one, which one of them called the other one,
huh?  Fact two, JC isn't clueless, he just pretends to be because
you all let him get away with it.  Put it together."

Lance stared at Chris, eeping his way around with the
non-functioning vacuum cleaner.  "Oh!"

"Yep.  JC's not stupid.  He doesn't need to be told that Chris
L-words him.  Betcha he makes Chris suffer a bit first though. 
It's kinda fun, y'know?"

Lance grinned at Justin.  "Brittle.  Britain.  Britches.  Brit--"

Justin stuck his tongue out at him.  "C'mon, we wanna get outta
here before JC gets here."

"You don't want to see Chris completely lose it in front of JC?"

"Naw.  I want to get you out of those pants."

"Oh."  Lance turned faintly red.

"And y'know," Justin said, waving at Chris as he tugged Lance
toward the door, "I think I could get used to the L-word thing. 
'Cause I'm pretty sure Lance is an L-word, too."