Pairing: Justin and JC
Words: muck; tattoo; initiate; red herring


JC frowns at the tattoo crossing his line of vision.  He's got his
head thrown back over the arm of the couch because he thinks better
that way, but the ankle is distinctive.  "Turn it back down.  I
can't hear the music."

Justin turns it down.

JC sighs happily.  He hates it when people muck with the radio. 
The music is much louder and clearer in his head when he can't
really hear it.

Justin sighs and sits against the back of the couch.  All he wants
to do is stop thinking, distract his brain.  He fists his fingers
in his curls and tugs.

JC lets his right arm down to loop over Justin's chest, but
Justin's arm is in the way.  He makes an unhappy noise.

Justin moves.  Unhappy JC isn't noisy.  He's quiet in a way that
forges you to dwell on all the bad things you've ever done.  Like
music playing too softly.

JC makes an unhappier noise and sits up.  There's a moment of head
rush, and then he snags Justin's arm and pulls him back.

Justin moans, head pounding.  "C... what?"

JC hums and pulls at Justin again, tugging him to lie down over
him.  Justin may be trying to initiate a conversation, but JC
doesn't want to have one.

Justin fights until he realizes it's useless.  He lays down, trying
to keep his head as close to upright as possible.  Propped
awkwardly between JC and the back of the couch, he closes his eyes
and tries to think of nothing.

The music's all wrong because Justin's all wrong,  JC reaches out,
trying to entice Justin into lying down where JC can get at him
more easily by letting his fingers sink into the tightness between
Justin's neck and the point of his shoulder.

Justin sighs.  "C..."

"Mm?"

"Let *go*.  My head hurts."

JC sighs, stung into speech at last.  "All right."  He drops his
hand and gets out from underneath Justin.

Justin sits up, resting his forehead on his knees.  "I'm sorry, C,"
he mumbles into the close curve of his body.  "Just hurts."

JC sighs again and pads away.  When he comes back, he's carrying a
glass of water and some ibuprofen.  He sets them down where Justin
can see them, then turns away.

"Thanks, JC," Justin says, taking the pills quickly.  He laces his
fingers back through his hair and pulls.

JC hesitates.  Justin has his own music, and is impossible not to
hear, whether it's loud or quiet.  Despite the jangling, he rests
his hand on Justin's head and starts scrunching his scalp.

Justin gasps, then melts.

That's better.  JC hums again as the music becomes clearer, less
full of noise.  He brings his other hand up and uses both to rake
over Justin's aching head.

Justin sighs.  "I'll give you anything you want."

JC keeps one hand on Justin's head as he comes around and sits back
down.  He rubs Justin's head some more, and then uses his free hand
to tug Justin toward him.  He wants to lie back on the couch and
have Justin lie over him, where JC can massage his head and neck
and listen to all the music: what's in his head, what's on the
radio, and Justin.

Justin makes a protesting sound, but goes along.  His head throbs
as he becomes horizontal and all he can hear is the pulse of his
blood.

JC keeps rubbing, head, back of neck.  He's comfortable with Justin
lying on top of him.  It all feels right.

Justin breathes slowly like his mother taught him.  He's had
migraines for as long as he can remember.  He just has to make it
through this.

JC hums quietly to soothe Justin, the violin part of the song in
his head.

Justin's hands are tight in JC's shirt and he doesn't know how they
got there.  "C?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

JC kisses the top of Justin's head and thinks about music.  About
beautiful lines of melody that begin so bold and trail like red
herrings, as the theme always comes back to the same place again.