Pairing: Chris and JC
Words: faith-healing; snippy; sex object; matador


There's advantages to being rich and fancy free.  Well, relatively
fancy free.  But Chris isn't going to let a little thing like a
scheduled tour with booked dates and thousands -- even hundreds of
thousands -- of disappointed fans stop him.

Justin's still asleep, so it's JC who gets to hear the revelation
first.

"I," he announces dramatically, posing in front of JC, "am going to
be a matador."

"You look good in red."

"And black.  The red's for the *cape*," Chris says.  You have to
explain things to JC in little words sometimes.  "Geez, I wish
Justin was awake.  He'd get it."

"You look good in blue, too."

"Black!" Chris stamps his foot.  "They wear *black*!  Which I
happen to look fantastic in, thank you very much."

"You do look good in black," JC agrees.  "And orange."

"You're hopeless," Chris decides.  "We need to buy you some fashion
sense.  How am I supposed to be a sex object in orange?"

"You're always a sex object."

"Huh.  Well, that's okay then.  Except I'd be hotter as a
bullfighter."  Chris strikes a pose.  "Ole!"

"You could go naked."

"I so could not!" Chris says.  "You don't get it.  It's all about
the tight little pants, and the hat and the *style*.  The standing
there and facing off against this primal creature that wants to
gore your ass to death.  And beating him with a little cape
flipping.  It's... it's... um.  Good.  Or something."

"You'd be much hotter naked."

"Fine," Chris says, snippy and mean because JC just doesn't get the
*point*, and he's ruining Chris' bright idea.  "You want I should
just strip now?" 

"Sure."

"You asked for it."  Chris starts taking off his clothes, tossing
or kicking them aside until he's standing there completely nude. 
"There."

"Very, very hot," JC says.  Then he picks up a red oil charcoal
from his art set and starts drawing on Chris.

Chris yelps.  "Hey!  Did I *say* to use my body as a living
canvas?"

"No.  You look good in red."

"So you're gonna, what?  Cover me in red?"

"No."  JC finished tracing Chris's ribs and hips with red, then
picks up the blue.  He colors the spaces between Chris's ribs.

"Do I want to know what's going on, or should I just make up my own
explanation?"

JC shrugs and gets the black.

"I can scream for help, y'know," Chris says conversationally,
holding still for JC.  "Guaranteed to get at least... well,
probably nothing, since Justin'd just pull the pillow over his
head, and the driver'd probably ignore it or *maybe* call for
advice, but still.  I could fracture your ear drums."

"Yeah."  JC picks up the orange and fills in the spaces.  The
colors carefully don't touch.

"I notice you're paying absolutely no attention to my threat."

"Mm-hmm."

"So should I turn around before you get to my dick?  Or do you want
to do that, too?  I warn you, I'm going to go into Steve Martin
mode and do the whole faith-healing thing from that movie of his
and say stuff like, 'And, praise Jesus, he laid hands on it, and it
lives!'."

JC sets the crayon away and starts delicately blurring the edges of
the colors together.  Chris obligingly sweats just a little, making
it easier.

Chris sighs.  "I warn you, I'm gonna start fidgeting soon.  And I
mean that one.  I'm only gonna be able to hold still so long."

JC finishes and tilts his head considering.  "Hmm."  He lifts a
glittering, silver crayon from the box and shadows the lines. 
"There."

"There?  All done?  I can go look in the mirror and scare children
with my awesome sexiness?"

"I'll show you."  JC sits back and pulls until Chris sits
straddling his lap.  He holds Chris's upper body firmly against his
white shirt for a long, long time.

Chris tries to squirm, but JC's got him held pretty tight.  He'd
have to slide out, and that'd lose him style points.  Plus dignity
points.  "What are you doing, freak?"

JC lets Chris go eventually.  "There."

"There what?" Chris demands, pulling himself out of JC's lap.  "I'm
a good boy.  I don't do lap dances until someone at least sticks a
buck in my g-string."

"I'm gonna take a nap," JC notes, getting up and locking his art
box.  "You can come with me, if you want."

Chris frowns.  "You got me naked, you painted on me, you had me rub
my nakedness all over you -- and now you want to *sleep*?"

"Yes.  And then have sex.  Or masturbate.  Depends on who I wake up
with."

Chris blinks, and then grins.  "Hell, yeah.  Let's go.  C'mon,
slowpoke -- we've got lots of good napping to do!"

JC hums as he carefully folds his shirt into a plastic bag, then
climbs into his bunk next to Chris.  "Night."

Chris folds himself around JC.  "It's morning.  Go to sleep."

"Okay."

Chris grins into JC's chest.  ~And the bull is bested, yet again,
by the wily matador.~