For fleurrochard: Trickyfish. "So rock and roll so corporate suit / So damn ugly, so damn cute / So well trained, so animal / So need your love, so fuck you all."

"Chris?" Joey blinked a few times, and then burst out laughing. "Chris. We are talking about the same Chris, here? Short, bad hair, likes to think that he's a punk, can't pick up his dirty socks to save his life, sings like a girl or like a guy who's been kicked in the nuts? That Chris?"

"Shut up." Lance could feel his face starting to flush. "I didn't tell you so that you could mock me."

"Okay, okay." Joey held out his hands and tried to contain his laughter. "Okay, I'm behaving. No, really, I mean it. So. Why Chris?"

"I don't know," Lance said, and looked down at his fingers twisted in his lap. "I just woke up and realized that .. Well. I mean. He's Chris."

"I know," Joey said. "Which is why I'm a little baffled, herre. Explain it to me. You just woke up one morning and decided that Chris was dreamy?"

"No." Lance rolled his eyes. "Jeez, give me a break here. It's just." He took a deep breath. "He's crazy and cranky and we'll never civilize him and that doesn't matter. It was -- Last Thursday, sitting out on the balcony in the hotel in Vegas hung over like a madman, drinking his coffee. In the sunglasses. And I looked over at him, and the sun was kind of glistening on him, and he really needed a shower, and he looked up at me and snarled something about breakfast and that was when I knew." He shrugged. "It's kinda crazy."

"Yeah," Joey said. "It is." He paused. "But hey, if that's what you want, come on. I'll give you some ideas."

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