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Bedroom Dancing: The Outside In Remix
By Trixie Lance has become an expert at seeing signs, and right now these particular signs are all over the place. The way Joey prowled the bus late last night, restless, bored. The way JC has worn nothing but touchable clothes the past week, like the silk shirt and velvet jeans he wore clubbing last night. The way Joey is sitting on the back platform of the stage, watching JC hum to himself and run half-heartedly through some of the Girlfriend choreography. Joey hasn't taken his eyes off of JC's body for twenty minutes, and it's obvious from the way he moves that JC knows it. "Joe," Justin snaps irritably from near Lance, "Melinda's waiting for you." Joey drags his eyes away from JC and nods at Justin, finishes off his water and pushes himself off, landing easily on the stage. He slaps JC on the ass on his way across the stage, eliciting a yelp and a grin. "Stupid fuckers," Justin mumbles and goes to get mic'ed up for soundcheck. Lance just sighs, not really wanting to voice his agreement, and goes to joins him. * It's been a long time since it happened between them, Lance is pretty sure of that. Joey doesn't always talk to Lance until after, but he can usually tell. The last time they ended it, just before Briahna was born, Joey told Lance he meant it this time. Lance is more surprised that he isn't surprised than anything else. The show is good that night; high energy and the crowd is with them every step of the way. JC and Joey are all over each other, not unlike any other night onstage, unless you're one of the handful of people who know the difference between what's harmless and what's intent for them. They flirt and grin at each other, but there's something softer about their smiles, something different in the way they lean into each other. Joey always wraps himself around JC whenever he gets a chance. But tonight, there's a moment when Joey's hand dips under JC's shirt when he grabs him around the waist, a moment when JC grabs Joey's hand when Joey's leaning over his shoulder. It's different, but only if you know what you're looking at. He catches Chris watching him watching them and shrugs. Chris just rolls his eyes and bumps against Lance before pointing out a misspelled sign that reads, "Mary me, Justin." "That's taking the virgin thing a little far, don't you think?" he whispers to Lance, making him laugh. When they run for the buses, Joey's ahead of him and already splayed out on the couch, guzzling a bottle of water when Lance climbs onto the bus. He tosses a bottle to Lance and it's cold and wet in his hand, even better going down his throat. The bus lurches when it pulls out and Lance stumbles. "Sit down, before you fall down," Joey says with a grin and reaches up to push Lance down on the couch opposite him. Lance grins back at him and relaxes into the cushions, waiting for his breathing and pulse to slow. Coming off stage always feels like just after sex to him, sweaty and exhausted, warm and languid. But Joey's always keyed up, crackling with energy, and tonight's no different. He's humming to himself and wiggling his leg like Chris on too much coffee. Lance can't see Joey's face, because he's got a towel draped over his head, but he can see Joey's hands rubbing restlessly over his thighs and he's clearly hard in his jeans. "Joe," Lance starts, and Joey looks up, stilling and squinting over at him. He never knows how to start this conversation, which is why they rarely have it. But before he can find the words, Joey's up and moving again. "I gotta get out of these clothes, man. I'm fuckin' rank." And then he's gone. Lance frowns and reaches behind him to dig out the remote, turning on the stereo and turning it up. * It's a hotel night, but they're heading out at an ungodly hour the next morning, so there's no plans to go out, just a card game in Justin's room. On the way off the bus, Joey told him he wasn't up for cards and would probably hang out in his room. Showered and dressed in sweats, Lance nods at Dre, knocks on the door to Justin's suite and walks in when he hears Justin yell, "S'open!" Justin's laying on the couch, eating a sandwich and beat-boxing to Eminem in between bites. He grins when Lance makes a face at the choice of music, because it's pretty much the only thing he and Chris have been listening to since it was released. Chris is at the bar, mixing drinks and bobbing his head to the beat. "Bass!" Chris yells and holds up a bottle of Jack Daniels. "Drink?" "Yeah, with..." "Diet, I know." Chris shakes his head at Lance like he's a great disappointment and digs into the mini-fridge for a Diet Coke. "Eat, drink, get your wallet out." He hands him an over-full glass, sloshing a little over Lance's hand. Lance takes a drink and it's good, but he's more interested in the spread of chicken wings and sandwiches. He's always so fucking hungry after a show. Filling a plate, he grabs a seat at the table where Justin's already shuffling cards. "I think it's just the three of us tonight." "Yeah, JC already gave us some bullshit about wanting to sleep. Their loss, man." Justin shrugs and taps the cards against the table. "Sure," Chris says, pulling up a chair between them. "What kind of idiots choose a good forbidden deep-dicking when they could be here eating bad wings and losing money to me." "Chris," Justin whines, screwing his face up in disgust. Lance just laughs, because yeah, maybe it's not JC and Joey who are the suckers here. "Finish your food, Lance. I'm not dealin' while you're eating. I fuckin' hate..." "...sticky cards," Lance finishes his sentence with him. "We know, J." An hour later Lance has a good-sized pile of dollar bills stacked in front of him and a lovely whiskey buzz. Chris is bitching about his poker-chi being off tonight and Justin is blowing a tune into his bottle of beer. "Bullshit, man. You always suck." Lance slides the cards over for Chris to cut and then starts dealing. Justin laughs and points at Chris with his bottle. "He's right. You do." "Fuck you both." They're all silent for a minute while they contemplate their cards, Chris groaning over his and Justin giggling in response. When their bets are placed and Lance is dealing new cards, Justin leans forward, suddenly more serious. "I can't believe they're doing this shit again." Nobody has to ask what he means. Chris sighs and folds his hand. "The flesh is weak." "He's got a kid, now." The thing is, Justin doesn't understand it. He never has. He doesn't get how someone can love two people at the same time. He believes in soulmates, one-true-loves, and he thinks cheating is the worse thing people can do to each other. He loves Joey, but he doesn't understand him. Lance understands. He thinks if anyone has enough love to go around, it's Joey. And he knows that Joey loves JC. And he knows that Joey loves Kelly and Briahna. He just hates to see Joey after. "They're both idiots." Chris understands too, he just can't understand why anyone would continue to do something that hurts them so much. Lance knows that Chris blames JC for going back every time. "It'll be all love and sex until the guilt kicks in and Joey goes home to the wife and kids, and Lance will play father-confessor, and JC'll be a raging bitch for a few weeks and then everything will go back to normal. Until the next time." Which is all true, Lance thinks, except he left out the part where JC will crawl into Chris's bed a week or so after Joey leaves. It really is an incestuous dysfunctional group they have going on. He doesn't want to know what their Behind the Music is gonna be like in ten years. "Whatever." Justin folds his cards in disgust and Lance grins, adding to his pile of bills. "The important thing is," Chris says, picking up his last ten bucks, "I've got ten on four days before it all ends in tears." Justin snorts and pulls out his own ten. "Two weeks, at least. You in?" he asks Lance. Lance shakes his head. "It'll be the end of the tour, but I'm not betting. It's gross." "Fuck that," Chris says, reaching over and taking ten bucks off Lance's pile of cash and adding it to the pool. "End of tour it is. I thank you gentlemen for playing." * Four days before the end of the tour, Lance stumbles into his hotel room, pleasantly drunk from a night of hitting strip clubs with Justin and Chris. He strips out of his clothes, pulls on pajama bottoms and digs around in his bag for Tylenol. He's guzzling cold water when someone knocks softly on his door. It's Joey, and Lance knows right away. He knows exactly what this looks like. "I'm sorry, dude," Joey says, walking in and sitting down on Lance's bed. "I just..." "Yeah." Lance squeezes his shoulder and hands over the rest of his water bottle. "Get comfortable." He's got the box of M.A.S.H. DVDs they picked up last week in his bag, so he pulls them out, pops one in, while Joey toes out of his shoes and steps out of his jeans. He stretches out on his belly on the bed, rubbing at his face. Lance crawls up and sits cross-legged on the bed next to him and hits play on the remote. He reaches over and sinks a hand into Joey's hair, scratching softly at his scalp. Tomorrow they'll talk and Joey will cry and tell him how sometimes he loves JC and sometimes he loves Kelly and he doesn't know how to choose, Lance will tell him he has to stop doing this, and Joey will agree. But tonight, Lance will do what he always does. He'll stay up and watch tv and be Joey's best friend. Written for We Invented the Remix. Original story by Cherry, here. Kudos to kel. and Merry for beta-on-the-fly. March, 2004. |