Pairing: Lance and Chris
Words: condescending; lounge; christen; equate


It wasn't so much that he was lonely, because Chris was never
lonely.

He had friends, he had stuff to do, he had just as much hordes of
adoring fans as any other aging pop god, and probably more than
Ricky Martin, which was what really mattered.  He had plans, too. 
Maybe he wasn't on Broadway or appearing in movies, or making his
own album or going into space, but he wasn't completely *lame*
either.  He had projects.  He had a life.

He was just kinda sick of it, that was all.

Chris looked at the floor again.

He drank a lot last night.  Ron was leaving to visit his parents;
his sister'd just had a baby and he was going back home to attend
the christening.  Chris'd kept getting drunk though, even after Ron
had taken off, and then he'd gotten into the pot because getting
drunk alone put him in a bad, sad mood, and pot didn't.

None of that explained this morning though.

Chris lashed his tail and jumped down onto the floor, then headed
into the bathroom.  The counter was several miles taller than him,
but hell.  He was a cat now.  He could do it.  Chris gathered his
legs under him and sprang.

And landed sprawled in the middle of the sink.

Humiliating.  Chris huffed at himself -- and that, at least, was
still sorta similar -- then picked himself up, and looked at the
mirror.

There was a cat staring back at him.  An evil looking black cat
with spiky fur.  His ears flattened and he hissed at it.  Evil cat. 
How dare it come and invade his home?

Approximately twenty seconds later, Chris streaked out of the
bathroom and hid under his bed.

What the *hell* was that all about?  He's a cat.  A fucking cat. 
And he's a human.  Why the hell had he just hissed at himself?  He
*knew* what a mirror was.  It was just himself in the mirror.  He's
behaving like a lunatic.

Not that believing you've been turned into a cat was precisely
*sane* or anything, but really.  He had paws and a tail and
whiskers and he was definitely of the cat-like persuasion.

Chris wondered for a second why he couldn't have been something
cool, like a dog.  Cats were condescending and stuck-up, like
Lance.  Prissy, precise and so sure that they were right about
everything.  Dogs were so much better.

As much as he wanted to tell himself that this was some sort of
hallucination brought on by the pot or a really vivid dream, he
couldn't.  He knew better.  He'd been there, done that, ate the
t-shirt when it came to marijuana.  This was -- as bizarre as it
seemed -- real.

He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a gi-normous dildo. 
So that was where it'd gone!  It'd been under the bed all this
time.  Chris couldn't help himself.  He flicked out his tongue and
licked it.

Oh, yuck.  Lube.

He got up and came out from under the bed.  Now what?

He trotted down the stairs into the living room.  His house looked
just the same except a whole lot larger.

Chris' whiskers twitched.  Something smelled *good*.

He followed his nose over to the door that'd used to let his dogs
out into the backyard.  He'd thought about having that closed up,
but thinking that just made it worse, and anyway.  Dogs?  Yuck. 
The hairs on his back bristled at the very thought.

The good smells were coming from outside through, and Chris poked
his head through and went out.

****

Several hours later, Chris lounged in the window, sunning himself
with a self-satisfied look.  This cat stuff was *great*!  He'd
managed to snare a really stupid bird and kill it, which was lots
and lots of fun until it got to the part where it was all dead and
unmoving.  The cat part of him didn't care one way or another about
it anymore at that point.  The human part was torn between 'aren't
I supposed to eat that?' and 'whoa, I just killed a fucking bird'.

Eventually, he'd dragged it back into the house and left it on the
floor for later and then, drawn by the irresistible power of the
Great God of the Sun, had jumped up on the window ledge.  Life had
been good ever since.

It felt like years since anything had been this good.  His body
glowed with heat and relaxation.  Chris yawned again and set his
head back down on his paws.  He didn't know when or how he was
supposed to get back to being a human, but it wasn't so bad being
a cat, not really.  This part sure as hell beat being himself
lately.  Being alone.  Being lonely.  Being bored.

He could sleep all day...

The phone rang and, after four rings, the answering machine picked
up.

Chris' ears were cocked, but he hadn't stirred otherwise. 
Interesting noise, but not a threat.

"Chris?  Hey, man, this is Joey.  Pick up if you're there, this is
important.  Chris!  Chris!  Wake up!  Stop playing video games and
pick up the phone!  Okay.  Fine.  Never mind then, I'll tell you
anyway.  Lance isn't going.  They told him no.  Just wanted to let
you know before you found out from someone else.  He's gonna be
back soon, and, yeah... um..."

Chris had picked up his head when Lance was mentioned and was even
now trying to stomp on the pause button for the answering machine. 
Damnit.  He knew you just had to press one of these buttons and it
stopped the tape and you could talk back.  He just couldn't tell
which one, because he'd never paid attention and now he couldn't
read the lettering.

Chris yowled in frustration.

"Hello?  Chris?  Is that you?"

Chris yowled again.

"Did you get a pet or something?  It doesn't sound like a dog or
anything."

He yowled again.  Stupid Joey.

"Or maybe you knocked the phone on your head and you're
screeching?"

He hated Joey.  A lot.  Chris yowled again and retreated.

Twenty minutes later, he was drowsing in a chair upstairs and had
forgotten about the matter.  Being a cat was cool.

****

Chris slept that night curled up in the center of his bed.  It
smelled good and the blankets felt like a nest.  In lieu of a sunny
spot, which wasn't likely in the middle of the night, it'd do.

When he woke up, he carried the bird outside, ate it, and then had
fun trying to figure out where to do 'it'.  The garden soil felt
all wrong.  Too wet under his paws.  And the grass?  Nope, not
gonna do it.  Eventually he found a place that almost felt right,
but it still kinda sucked.

Much better than the Toilet of Doom upstairs though.  He couldn't
understand how he'd ever used it ever ever ever.  There was *water*
in there for God's sake.  What had he been thinking when he was
human?

He'd nearly gone back to sleep when the front door opened.

Chris' hair stood up and he jumped up and sidled into an
appropriate position for taking action.  Anyone breaking into *his*
house was going to pay, and pay badly.

It was Johnny.

Chris flattened himself under the couch and stayed out of sight. 
What the hell?

Johnny went through the house.  "Chris?  Chris, are you home? 
Chris?"

He went upstairs, still saying the same thing, then went outside. 
When Johnny came back to the living room, he was dialing his cell
phone.  Chris watched him with wary eyes the whole time, just
barely holding back a hiss.  Trespasser!

"Joe?  No, he's not here.  No, no dead bodies, no sign of a
struggle.  Everything looks fine.  As far as I can tell.  He
*might* have bought a new car and a new set of luggage and taken
off, but seriously, it looks like he just went down the street for
some junk food or something.  Yes, I understand you can't reach him
and that he'd call if he could, but maybe he's turned off his cell. 
Yes.  No, I didn't.  How would I know?  If there's a cat, it could
be outside for all I know.  No, I'm not going to stay here and look
for a cat.  I *do* have other things to do, you know.  Yeah, fine. 
I'll make sure there's enough cat food.  You do realize that Chris
is going to be confused if he finds cat food and doesn't have a
cat, don't you?"  Johnny chuckles.  "Okay, sure, I get that.  Yeah,
that would be the best part.  You want me to leave him some cat
toys, just to confuse him?  Uh huh.  Yeah.  I'll put a note
somewhere he won't miss it, too.  Don't worry about it, Joey.  I'm
sure he's just fine.  Chris can take care of himself.  Yeah, I'll
call as soon as I hear anything."

After the intruder left, Chris had to go all over the house and
brush against everything, rubbing his face against it.  It'd been
polluted by the presence.  *His* house!

An hour later, the intruder was back with a bag of cat food which
was opened.  A bowl of it was left on the floor, next to the bag. 
Then the intruder left again.

Chris hissed at the door and vowed to get better locks when he had
hands and a voice again.  People shouldn't be doing that.  When he
was finished asserting himself on the house, he tried the cat food.

Hmm.  Not bad.  Little bite-sized chunks.  Kinda dry.  Like potato
chips really.  Doritoes.  You had one and then you wanted more.

Chris ate quite a lot before he'd realized it, then felt sleepy
again.  Sleepy was good.  He was finally seeing JC's point of view. 
Sleep equated heaven on Earth.  He was going to be nicer to JC when
he became human again.

If he let them do it, that was.  If he could prevent it.

Chris tucked himself onto a ball in the center of his bed.  It, at
least, had not been tainted with another's scent.  Once that
would've seemed pathetic, but now it was just comforting.  In the
late afternoon sun, it's warm and comfortable and perfect.

He went to sleep.

****

Chris used to believe in counting days based on the day beginning
when you woke up and ending when you went to sleep, and short naps
didn't count.  In NSYNC-time, most weeks had four days in them,
sometimes five.

In cat-time, Chris couldn't be assed to count, but it'd been months
and months worth of sleeping if anyone had been counting.  The cat
food was nice and he supplemented it with the occasional mouse. 
His house had *mice*!  He was outraged even if they were kinda fun
to play with before they died.  But the bird had been a fluke, and
the mice were amusing and tasty.  All in all, it made for a nice,
easy existence.  He was happy and if he occasionally thought about
being a human, well, there was always somewhere to curl up and go
to sleep.  Florida was warm.

That was why the front door opening again came as something of a
shock.

The other intruder had been gone for ages in cat-time and Chris had
stopped being threatened by the strange scent not long afterwards,
because it hadn't returned.  Sometimes the thing in the living room
rang, but he didn't listen to it anymore, just pricked up his ears
when it did and let them relax when it stopped.

But it was the door!  Another force of evil come to take what was
his.

Chris skulked.  This time he was going to rip apart the ankles of
the Evil One.

"Chris?" A voice said.  A different voice than the Voice of Evil,
but still an intruder.

Chris hissed at him.

The intruder bent down and offered his hands.

Nice hands.  Chris sniffed at them.  Good smelling hands.  He
licked them.

He was pulled up into the air in an uncontrolled fall.  He tried
instinctively to right himself so he'd land properly, but the
nice-smelling person had captured Chris' feet and kept him from
squirming away.  Then he was being held against someone's chest,
and there was a face staring down at him.

It was kinda familiar, even if it was really huge.

"Hey.  You must be the cat."

The intruder had a deep voice and good hands.  Chris resigned
himself to his capture and submitted.

He was petted and examined thoroughly.  "You don't look too thin,
so Chris has to have been here sometime.  That's good.  Unless you
just strolled in out of the wild, but you kinda look like a Chris
cat.  Not that Busta or Kariya really looked like Chris *dogs*,
except in the sense that he's kinda funny looking and cute like
that sometimes... and I'm talking to the cat."

Chris was set down.  By the intruder's ankles.  He had the perfect
opportunity to bite, but he didn't exactly want to.  He liked this
one.  It smelled right and sounded right.  He liked it.

The new trespasser -- or visitor -- examined the house carefully,
then took his suitcases upstairs.  Chris watched him moving in.  He
liked that, too.  The visitor was *his*, just like the house was. 
The visitor wasn't intruding anymore than the house could intrude. 
It was *his*.

Some part of him insisted that was wrong, but the catly part of him
knew what was what.  Especially when the visitor went out and came
back with milk, and then heavenly chopped meat that was just the
right size and didn't have all the stupid bones and skin and stuff
that the mice had.

Chris twined around the visitor's ankles, and followed him
upstairs, forgoing his own bed to jump up and curl by the visitor. 
He liked him.  A lot.

The hand petted him.  "I miss him," the deep voice said.  "I've
been missing all of them, but Chris especially, ever since Joey
said he was gone, because that meant he wasn't here to go back to. 
I kept thinking, he'll be there when I get there, but he isn't."

The hand curled over him and pulled him closer.  Wetness dripped
into his fur.  Chris tolerated it and purred, trying to reassure
the visitor.  Stupid big people.  Didn't understand that it was all
about the sleep.  If it would just sleep, it'd be happy, like
Chris.  Sleep was the cure-all.

"I guess that makes sense, since I don't feel like being here
either," the voice continued.  "I don't know who am.  I wish I
could just not be."

Chris purred louder.  Sleep good!

The voice laughed shakily.  "Yeah, yeah.  Talking to the cat again. 
I know I've lost it now.  I wonder if Chris is really attached to
you.  You're pretty cool for a cat."  Gentle fingertips stroked his
spine and Chris arched with pleasure.  "I'm a dog person, but I
like you."

Chris wrinkled his nose.  Dogs.  Ew.  He could take 'em though. 
He'd show any dog who tried to come into his territory.

After a while, the stroking stopped and the visitor fell asleep. 
The hand stayed draped over Chris, though, and Chris kept purring
for a long time, trying to take care of *his* person.

****

Chris woke up in the morning with a hand draped over his back.  It
felt good, and he tried to purr, but failed.  It came out wrong. 
Like growling or something, but higher pitched.  He twitched his
nose and tried to fall back to sleep.  Sleep good.

Unfortunately, he really had to piss.

Chris pushed himself up to all fours and gathered himself up to
jump down off the bed.

He landed on his face with a loud crash and laid there, staring at
his hands.

Hands.  There was something different about that...

A voice said from above, "Chris?!"

Chris rolled over and looked up.  The face looking down at him was
much more familiar in scale.  "Lance."

"Where have you been and what are you *doing*?"

Chris pulled his hand to his face, started licking the back of it,
then forced himself to stop as Lance's brows rose.  "Um.  This is
gonna sound like I'm stoned..."

Lance rolled his eyes.  "Like that's new."

"But you remember the cat?"

"Yep."

"That was me."

Lance nodded slowly.  "Uh huh."

"No, really.  I've been a cat for, um.  I don't know how long.  A
while.  And I slept with you last night and now I'm me and I'm on
the floor because I tried to jump off the bed and it doesn't work
anymore."

"Uh huh."

"I'm not crazy.  Um.  Just stay there for a minute, okay?"

"Okay," Lance said.  He drew the blankets up around him.

Lance, Chris realized, was naked.  So was he.

Cautiously, Chris got to his feet.  He felt dizzy without four
feet, like he was constantly falling forward.  He reached out to
the walls as he walked to the door, then out into the hall.  He was
halfway to the stairs when he realized.  Oh.  Bathrooms.  He
couldn't just go outside and tear up some ground and be done with
it.

He turned around and headed into the bathroom.  The Toilet of Doom
stared up at him.  It was scary.  He sat down, because he didn't
know if he could handle pissing standing up, and did it.  It was
awkward and made him feel nervous with all that water so close, but
he managed it anyway.

Chris looked at the mirror when he got up.  Dark hair, confused
looking eyes, human features.  Yeah, that was him.  He bared his
teeth at himself, and went back into the bedroom Lance had chosen.

"Chris..." Lance began when he came in.

Chris sat down on the bed, then laid down and curled up in it.  Too
cold.  He pulled the blanket over himself then sniffed.  His nose
wasn't as good, but Lance was right there.  Good smell, heat both
came from Lance.  Chris curled into Lance, getting really warm.

"Chris?" Lance nearly squeaked.

"Shut up," Chris said.  "I've been a cat for God knows how long and
I need time to adjust.  Plus you smell good and you're mine."

Lance's hands, which had closed nervously around Chris, stiffened. 
"I'm what?"

Stupid humans.  Making stuff so confusing.  "You're *mine*," he
repeated.  "I claimed you and now you're mine and anyone who even
thinks about leaving their scent on you is asking for some
seriously bitten ankles, so there."

Lance's hands came up to Chris' face and tilted his head back. 
Lance's eyes were big and wondering.  "You want me to be yours?"

"Nope.  You *are* mine.  Got a problem with that?"

Lance wrapped his arms back around Chris where they belonged.

Chris sighed happily.  There were some compensations for being
human again after all.  Like lying up against Lance.

"No," Lance said, "No, I don't."

"Good.  Now go to sleep," Chris said, eyes closing again.  He
yawned, a big wide cat yawn.  "Sleep good.  Remember that."