It was an actual, honest-to-God day off, which Chris had just about given up on ever having again. He couldn't remember the last one he'd had, but Justin had thrown out his back in rehearsal yesterday, and he was in bed with the heating pad and Lynn hovering over him to keep him entertained. Joey had looked around, thrown up his hands, and taken Lance over to Universal, with Diane's blessing; "it's not fair that the kid's been in Orlando for four months and has hardly been anywhere," Joey had said.

JC and Joey had traded the usual good-natured rivalry -- JC claiming that Universal was only a pale shadow of Disney World, Joey making disparaging comments about the House of Mouse -- but Lance's eyes had gone all excited, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Chris thought sometimes that someone was going to have to take the kid under his wing sooner or later, work on pulling out the personality he knew was hiding underneath all that self-consciousness, but it could wait. He was too busy trying to get through each day as it came.

But not today. Today, he wasn't on the schedule at either job, and rehearsal had been cancelled, and he had a six-pack of Bud, a bag of Doritos, and the Flyers game on the TV. He sprawled out on the couch, put his feet up on the arm and tucked a pillow behind his head, and promised himself he wasn't going to so much as move all damn evening until it was time to order the pizza.

He didn't even bother to look up when the door opened; whoever it was probably wasn't looking for him, and if they were, they'd find him eventually. A minute later, though, there was a sudden weight on the arm of the couch behind him; a thigh brushed the top of Chris's head, and JC said, "What's the score?"

"Three to two, Flyers," Chris said, automatically, and picked up the beer. "You get your shit done?"

JC shrugged. "Didn't really have anything big to do. Just needed to get out of here for a while, you know how it goes. You gonna share that?"

"Furnishing alcohol to minors is a violation of state and federal law punishable by a lot of really bad shit," Chris said, and handed over the can.

JC chuckled and tilted his head back, finishing the remaining half-can in two long gulps. "If you say so. You could at least drink good beer, you know."

"You finished it, you grab the next one. If you bitch too much about the quality of my beer, buy your fucking own."

JC, Chris thought, was going to grow up to be the kind of guy who only drank microbrews, hand-crafted by a family of German immigrants or some shit like that, but JC just laughed and made his way to the kitchen, coming back with two cans, one in each hand. "Joey?" Lynn called from the back of the house at the noise.

"Nope, just me," JC called back.

It was weird, living in the house like this, with everyone all up in each others' faces. Chris supposed it was decent enough; it was a place to stay, better than the shitty little apartment he hadn't really been able to afford the rent on anyway, but it was taking him a little while to adjust. Particularly the mom thing. It had been a long time since he'd had to account for his comings and goings to anyone. Lynn tried to mostly leave them alone, but she was the type of mother who mothered everyone in her vicinity, more-or-less impartially.

JC took it in stride far better than Chris did. He came back over to the couch, handed over the beer, and then sat on the floor next to the couch. "You'd better not let her catch you with that," Chris said.

JC shook his head. "Nah. It's cool. She knows all those empties in the recycle bin don't just come from you. I think she's got the whole don't ask, don't tell thing going on." He cracked open his can, took a sip, glanced over at the TV. "She isn't bad. You know, as moms go."

There was something there, some kind of bitterness or old pain behind the words, but Chris didn't know JC well enough to ask about it, not yet. Sometimes, in bull sessions over the kitchen table at two in the morning, Chris thought he caught a hint of something in JC's eyes, something saying that JC was a lot older than he seemed to be. He'd figure it out someday. Chris was good at figuring people out, when he wasn't running himself into the ground from dawn until dusk. "You've known her for a while, right?"

"Half of forever," JC agreed, but it wasn't the kind of statement that invited further conversation. They watched the game together for a few minutes, but Chris's heart wasn't in it for once. It was a lousy game, anyway; half the team kept missing shots that a four-year-old kid could have caught. If you put a four-year-old kid on skates, anyway.

"Joey and Lance gonna be back for dinner?" JC finally asked, after an off-sides penalty didn't even have the good graces to start a fight. Chris wasn't sure what the hell hockey was coming to these days.

"Nah. Joey was saying something about taking Lance home for dinner or something."

JC smirked. "Taking the almost-sort-of-but-not-quite-boyfriend home to meet the parents?"

Chris wasn't sure what the smirk meant, or what was lying behind it. They'd gotten rid of Jason for a lot of reasons, but one of the major ones had been the way Jason had looked at Joey, at Chris himself. He'd never said the word "faggot", but he hadn't really had to. JC hadn't said anything, just watched along and said, in the end, that Jason's voice hadn't been a good blend after all. "You got a problem with Joey and Lance?"

JC looked at Chris for a minute, then burst out laughing. "Be kind of hypocritical if I did," he said.

It took a second for it to sink in, and then Chris shook his head. "I gotta return my gaydar to the dealership for its sixty thousand mile tuneup," he muttered, and took another sip of beer. "Or, like, I gotta make a rule. Queer people in this band, all hands up."

"Dude, I thought you knew. I mean, it's not like I took an ad out in the paper or anything but --" JC gestured in a circle with the beer can. "I mean. I thought for sure Justin would have said something about me and Tony."

Chris squinted at him, trying to figure out which part of the sentence to attack first. Okay, yeah, JC and Tony, he could imagine that, if he thought about it a minute. It was kind of hot, even. But -- "Justin? Do I even want to know? He's like, ten. Please tell me you and he never --"

"No," JC said, looking faintly horrified. "But, you know, backstage, gossip, shit like that. I think he might have walked in on us once. You know. Like how Joey and Lance keep looking faintly guilty when we catch them alone in a room."

Chris held up a hand. "I so do not need that mental image."

"Hey, you were the one who came up with the plan to hide in the closet and get pictures."

Somehow they'd gotten off-track, and Chris wasn't really sure how it had happened. He gave up on the hockey game as a lost cause and struggled up to a sitting position. "Your attempts to change the subject to the contrary, how come you never said anything when we had the Big Group Coming-Out Scene?"

JC shrugged. It was back in his eyes again, something Chris couldn't identify. "Stuff. You know. I figured I'd get around to it eventually."

Okay, so that was a sore subject. Chris decided not to push. "Eventually is good. Anyway, it's all cool. You know I'm not going to say anything to anyone, or anything."

"LA," JC said, looking down at his hands. "Kind of fucked with a lot of things in my head."

Chris nodded, but he was starting to figure out that JC was the kind of guy who talked more when nobody was asking him questions. Like the act of not-asking was what let JC talk about it. "You think Justin's gonna be out of bed by tomorrow?" he asked, instead, and didn't miss the way JC's shoulders eased a little.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. He wouldn't even be there in the first place unless Lynn had threatened to sedate him." JC's lips turned up at the corners; not quite a smile, but it was fond. "I once saw him do three shows with a hundred and two fever. He doesn't really know the meaning of the word 'sick'."

Chris had suspected it, but still, it was nice to hear. He was damn serious about this group thing, and he knew the other guys were, too, but -- still. He wasn't used to having to depend on other people, particularly not people he'd really only just met. No matter how much he liked them. "He's a good kid."

JC laughed. "You shouldn't think of him too much as a kid. He's a lot older than he looks, and you'll hurt his feelings. He's kind of attached himself to you."

Chris blinked. "He what?"

"Oh, come on. You mean you didn't notice? He thinks you hung the stars in the sky, man. Soon as he gets up his nerve, you're going to have a lapful of sexually confused adolescent on your hands."

Chris stared at JC for a minute, then buried his face in his hands with a groan. "You have got to be kidding me."

"'Fraid not. Hey, if it's any consolation, he's not a pain about it. He's been crushing on me, like, forever. All you really need to do is let him get a look at you in a towel every now and then, and always knock before you open the bedroom door unless you want to get an eyeful."

Chris groaned again. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he accused. "Why me?"

The couch dipped with JC's weight next to him. "Because he's got good taste?"

Chris lifted his face from his hands and turned his head. JC was sitting really, really close. Uncomfortably close. JC put a hand on his arm; Chris could see the little flecks of grey in his eyes, could smell the faintly spicy, lingering scent of JC's soap. He wasn't sure what kind it was, something weird and probably imported and hand-made and --

He really had to stop letting his mind wander like this. "Are you hitting on me?" he asked.

JC's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "Maybe. Are you saying no?"

It was a bad idea. Chris had sworn off younger men years ago, particularly younger men with whom he was supposed to be, you know, working and living and all those other things which could lead to serious drama if things didn't work out right. He had a little trouble convincing his dick that this was a bad idea, though; it was twitching a little at the scent of JC so close to him. "Personal rule," he said, trying to make it light. "Don't mess with the people you gotta work with, and all."

"But you were the one who said we had to bond," JC said. "Grow closer. Understand each other. Things like that." He leaned a little closer; Chris found himself leaning back, like he was the prey and JC was some kind of wily hunter. "Besides, I thought you just weren't flirting back because you weren't interested, not because your gaydar was broken."

"Um," Chris said. It was about the only thing he could think of, and he spun his wheels for a second thinking about what might come next, but it didn't matter, because JC had leaned in to kiss him.

JC kissed like he meant it; simple, casual, almost restrained, but with a hint of steel and determination behind it. It took a minute before Chris's brain caught up with the rest of him, but really, he didn't need to think for this. All he had to do was relax into it, let his mouth slip open, let JC's tongue slide over his lips. Forget about all the times he'd told himself it would be a bad idea, forget about all the other people in the house --

Fuck. Chris pulled back again, bringing his hands up to JC's shoulders. "Not here," he said. "Come on, man, there are people in the house. And Joey and Lance could walk in any minute --"

JC was enjoying this, the bastard. Chris could see it in his eyes. "But that's half the fun of it," he said.

"Speak for yourself," Chris said. "Because, like, I like Lynn and all that, but I really don't need her walking in on me on the couch making out with somebody, because really, that shit was old when I was seventeen and it was my momma, not someone else's --"

JC interrupted him. "Chris?"

"...Yeah?"

"Shut up." JC punctuated it with another kiss, and oh, the boy -- man -- knew exactly what he was doing. Chris somehow wasn't startled at all to find that he was slowly and expertly being nudged over sideways, until his shoulderblades hit the couch and JC was spread out on top of him, still kissing like the world was going to end if he didn't keep on going. He clutched at JC's shoulders, fought with himself for a few minutes over whether to pull close or push back, but by the time all corners of his psyche had weighed in with their opinions JC had already moved on.

"Wait a second," Chris said, and fought a brief but valiant battle with his animal nature. Higher self won, and he brought his hands up to JC's shoulders even as JC started licking at Chris's collarbone. "Not here. Wait a sec, Jayce, not in the living room. Back to my room --"

"Where Lynn and Justin could hear you clear as bells," JC said, and spread himself out over Chris's lap. He brushed one thigh against Chris's dick in the process, and Chris nearly jumped out of his skin. He really was too old for this kind of shit. He was 24. He was supposed to have his own apartment with the crappy double mattress on the box spring on the floor and nobody around to care if he was getting laid except the downstairs neighbor.

He really wasn't supposed to be lying here on the couch in the living room while JC slid his hands under his shirt and touched him with precisely the right mixture, damn him for knowing anyway, of slow tease and hot burn.

"Can you keep your voice down?" JC asked, his eyes dark. It wasn't a whisper, more of a low hum, soft and intent like the backbeat of a song Chris knew he would never write.

Chris bit his lip and pushed himself up on his elbows. The TV chattered along in the background. Chris thought the Flyers might have managed to get off their asses and score, but he'd lost the track of what was going on and he had more important things to pay attention to, anyway. He'd been going to watch the game, dammit. He needed a fucking day off.

JC took silence as assent and dipped his head again, pushing Chris's shirt up to his armpits and licking one long slow glide from Chris's bellybutton up his chest. Chris hissed and then remembered he had to be quiet, had to stifle whatever noise he felt like making. Assuming they were really going to do this. And apparently they were going to do this, or at least JC was going to do this, and really, who was Chris to argue with a guy who had his mouth on Chris's nipple?

Stronger men than he would throw their objections to the wind when confronted with JC Chasez's mouth. At least, that's what Chris told himself as he bit down on his lower lip a little harder and brought his hands up to thread his fingers through JC's dumbass hair.

"Okay," Chris said, breathlessly. "You see, the thing is, I'm really bad at being quiet. Which you probably might have -- oh God -- guessed. And there's a perfectly good backyard out there. Or we could go -- Jesus Christ -- find somewhere. Else. You know. Without people. Or something. People bad."

JC's shoulders shook with silent laughter. He slid down Chris's body, draping his legs over the other arm of the couch and mouthing lightly at the button of Chris's jeans. His breath fanned, hot and feverish, across Chris's belly, and really, Chris was going to fucking explode any second, come right in his boxers, and wouldn't that just be something? He'd told himself for months he didn't need any sex with anyone but his right hand. He didn't have the time for it. Really.

JC didn't seem to want to waste any time, either. He made short work of Chris's fly with lips and teeth and tongue, and Chris lifted one hand to stuff it in his mouth, bit down on the base of his thumb hard enough to leave marks for a week, as JC slid a hand into his boxers and curled warm fingers around Chris's cock. With the one corner of his brain that hadn't been reduced to the level of Jesus fuck God yes, Chris wondered how the fuck he'd lost control of the situation so quickly.

"Shh," JC said, and Chris wasn't so far gone that he didn't recognize the sound of a dare. "They'll hear you." And that was a taunt if Chris had ever heard one, a sharp sweet flare of something dark and challenging, something Chris should probably find disturbing and was more disturbed to discover that he found kind of hot. Skinny, goofy, intense JC, JC with the awful haircut and the dorky way of smiling with his whole face, had his hand around Chris's dick and Chris knew he really hadn't had a chance from moment one.

He tried to hold on, tried to keep the one small measure of self-awareness necessary to keep his ears out for footsteps in the hallway or the opening of the front door, but then JC's mouth closed over him and really, what was the worst that could happen to him if someone walked in on them, after all? Utter humiliation and the complete inability to ever show his face in front of any of the guys ever again, sure, but Chris could live with that. As long as JC didn't ever stop. Because really, even the worst blowjob ever was pretty damn good, as long as there weren't, like, teeth involved and shit, and this was so far from being the worst blowjob Chris had ever had that it might, in fact, have gone around the track and lapped the worst blowjob. Twice. Heh. Lapped.

Lapped like the way JC was lapping at the head of Chris's cock, tiny little strokes that were enough to make Chris's hips rise up off the couch, not enough for it to do much more than make his blood start sparkling behind his eyelids. He took his hand out of his mouth long enough to start with "JC --", ready to beg, ready to do just about anything, really, but JC pulled his head back and shushed him.

"If you don't shut up," JC said, as pleasantly as possible, "I'm going to stop."

"Okay," Chris said, "shutting, really, because that's the last thing in the world --" He stopped himself from talking by shoving the hand back in his mouth and biting down. It was good timing; JC dropped his head again and this time took Chris entirely in his mouth, swallowing him down and breathing through his nose. It was the long smooth glide of someone who'd done this a hundred times before, and Chris really didn't want to think about where JC had learned it, because really, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the --

He really had to stop it with the inappropriate mental metaphors. He realized he was holding his breath and let it out in a rush, against his palm, and tried to keep himself from thrusting up into JC's mouth. Manners were everything, his momma had taught him, except really, she hadn't ever said anything about this situation, and he wasn't going to bring it up with her to see what set of manners she thought should apply, because as cool as his mom was, there were some things he really just didn't feel like --

JC did the thing. The thing, with the tongue, the one Chris himself usually only had a fifty-percent chance of being able to pull off, and Chris nearly swallowed his own tongue in response. He could hear his breath rasping in his ears; his mouth had fallen open and he was panting, roughly, drying out his mouth and his throat. It felt like he was tiptoeing through liquid nitrogen, dipped in a volcano and left out to dry, and JC was trying to suck his brains out through his dick, except that wasn't sexy at all, and this was sexy, this was pretty much pure sex, the way JC's lips were wrapped around him. The little noises JC was making. The little noises he was making, tiny little gasps for breath, can't make noise, can't say anything, can't make noise they'll hear you, can't say anything can't shout can't yell it all out even as it was begging for some kind of release, and when the release finally came it nearly blinded him with the white hot rush starting from right behind his eyeballs and threatening to drown him.

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by Chris trying to remember how to breathe.

JC licked delicately at his lips, as though trying to make sure he'd caught every last inch of the taste, and then sat up. Chris had never had a visual reference for the expression "the cat that ate the canary" before, but if he ever needed one in the future, this would be it. The little smirk around the edges of JC's mouth should have been creepy, but in fact, it was kind of endearing, and Jesus Christ Chris was more far gone than he thought he was if he was thinking shit like "endearing", even to himself.

"Dude," Chris managed. "I say this in all bafflement. What the fuck?"

"You were stressed," JC said, and then he grinned wider, his eyes crinkling around the edges like some of fucking character in a fucking Japanese cartoon. "Now you're not anymore."

"Mpf," Chris said, and wondered if he'd ever be able to string together coherent thoughts again, although really, he'd managed the word "bafflement" and he was kind of proud of that, even if he wasn't quite sure if it was an actual word or not. He picked up one hand and then let it fall back down to the couch when he realized he wasn't quite ready to move yet. "Gimme a few minutes before I return the favor."

"Oh, no," JC said.

"Huh?" That did make Chris move; he propped himself up on one elbow and reached out to try and rest his hand against JC's chest.

JC ducked the gesture as smoothly as though he'd rehearsed it, caught Chris's hand and held on, made a tiny little gesture of negation with the other hand. "I didn't say Simon Says." He leaned over and brushed his lips against Chris's, quickly, then slid off the couch. "Pizza for dinner tonight. Your turn to call."

And then he was gone.

Chris blinked. When it didn't seem to solve anything, he blinked again. After a little bit, when nothing useful happened again, he blinked a third time, and then decided that if third time wasn't the charm he might as well try something else. He zipped up his pants. It took entirely too much of his processor power.

After a minute, he realized the hockey game was over. The Flyers had lost.

Somehow, it didn't surprise him.

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