bohemia says:

"the world isn't really ready for fight fics."

________

alestar says:

The video games, the motorcycles, the skydiving-- it all dropped off suddenly. Chris and Justin came back to the hotel in Atlanta at three in the morning, and they didn't say anything, and Chris' hand was tight on Justin's shoulder-- and things were different after that. 

Three nights later, in Memphis, they went out again. JC had pushed back from his keyboard and said, "I need to get away from this thing." He looked at Justin, who was sitting in the hotel bed, lacing up his boots. 

"Want some company?"

Justin didn't look up. He said, "me and Chris are gonna do some stuff."

"Clubbing?"

"nah."

"Bike stuff?"

Justin tugged firmly at the black leather tongue of his shoe and stood, grinning. "Nah. Hey, I'll see ya later." Then he left. 

________

Once, the buses made a two-hour pit stop-- _two hours_-- and Chris and Justin disappeared. They made it back just in time, and they were brimming with energy, bouncing off the walls. Chris had a little bruise on the side of his face, but he wouldn't let JC look at it.

________

When Joey and Lance got Lonnie to let them into Chris' hotel room in Santa Fe, they had to wait until five in the morning before Chris and Justin came sloping in. Chris had the decency to widen his eyes in surprise-- Justin didn't look at them at all. He headed straight for the bathroom.

Joey followed, and when he saw the red smear down Justin's shirt, beneath his jacket, and the flecks scattered across his hands and face, he said, "Holy fuck, Justin. what the hell?" Justin shrugged and said,

"it's not mine."

________

The screaming blond girl gave one last, struggling leap and managed to grab a corner of Justin's shirt. He spun and his right arm came up-- but when it shot out, hard, Chris was there to catch it. He whispered something in Justin's ear, squeezed his shoulder, and Justin nodded.

A bodyguard pulled the young girl off, away, and Chris led Justin into the building, still murmuring to him. JC looked at Joey, frowning, and Lance pushed his hands deep into his pockets.

________

Justin was very, very drunk when Lance finally figured out what was going on. The hotel had fucked up the security and there were screaming, frenzied masses everywhere, so everyone was sequestered. 

Justin had been out of his room, trying to sneak down to Chris', but he'd had to duck into Lance's room when a group of people in halter tops had come running down the hall. Lance was working on paperwork, like always, but his bar was fully stocked, so Justin curled up on the couch with a mixed drink or nine, and proceeded to say things like, 

"I wish it was hotter in here," and "I bet Chris is pissed. he's gonna go fuckin ballistic next time. damn. dammn. Wouldn't wanna be his guy."

Eventually, Lance came over and sat next to him. He held out his hand for Justin's drink, but instead Justin fell into him, turned so that he was cupped in Lance's lap. The drink fell onto the floor.

"hey, Justin."

Justin said, mmmm.

"tell me where you go." Lance kept his voice soft and quiet, so that Justin would maybe not notice the question being asked. He needn't have, really, because when Justin said, "I can' talk about it," he was grinning, had been wanting to say it for months.

"Why not?"

"It's rule number one." He giggled, his eyes glittered. "And rule number two."

Lance said, "oh-- Justin, jesus."

Justin leaned up to bite quickly at Lance's jaw and then lick the mark away, and then he passed out.

________

Lance said it into his mirror the next morning. His eyes were shadowed, his mouth was drawn into a determined line. He said, 

"I want you to hit me as hard as you can."

He felt stupid afterwards, and haunted. Mostly haunted, but he didn't say anything to JC or Joey.

________

lise says:

Every time, before going to sleep, he stares into the mirror. 'I want you to hit me as hard as you can'. Thinks it. Can't bring himself to say it more than that one time.

He stalks down the street in leather pants, sometimes, and thinks about following justin to see where they go. Almost yells at Chris for being, stupid and pigheaded. But then there's Joey and his normal life, and that pretty much rocks, so he doesn't get angry often.

Imagine lance bass angry.

Imagine lance bass, fighting.

He has fought, though, in school when the boys tried to gang-bang him in the locker room. he fought his way out, and didn't let'em step on him anymore-- put two in the hospital. He fought his dad, once, drunk. He doesn't have those cute little virgin cheeks of Justin, or the brawler frame like Chris. Doesn't think fighting is romantic or sexy or a way of life.

yeah, fighting. He knows it for real. Sex is better. They should just be fucking.

And then, one day in rehearsal, Chris can't dance for limping, and Justin helps him to a chair. And lance thinks, angry, 'fuck you, fucking idiots'. He sends them a look close to hatred. Justin doesn't see it, and Chris does and looks confused, looks away. Lance jumps offstage and yells, 'when these guys are ready to do this for *real*, call me. I have real fucking work to do.'

JC, Justin and Joey watch him, amazed that lance bass raised his voice. anger takes on a quiet tone with him, most of the time. it simmers. it doesn't boil.

His stomach is tight. He can taste bile. Anger rises out of him, and resentment, and Lance punches the bag for half an hour. Burning.

But he doesn't tell Joey.

________

alestar says:

Joey walks past Lance, who is sitting on the closed toilet seat, to sit on the edge of the bathtub. Lance's hands are shaking and his face is red. He's got his elbows resting on his knees, his hands-- swollen from the punching bag-- are clasped. His eyes have never been dryer. 

Joey says, "this is new." He watches Lance's jaw work behind a tightly shut mouth, then lower his head, then release a long breath and say,

"this isn't _new_."

Joey scoops down to crouch in front of Lance and puts a hand on his shoulder. He leans in, his voice is quieter than you'd think it could be, looking at him. "Then what is it, baby?"

He leans in until his forehead rests a little against Lance's, his hand squeezes reassuringly-- and Lance has never felt claustrophobic, but does, now. He resists the urge to shrug him off, because Joey's breath is warm and kind and always is, no matter what. Joey used to get in alot of fights in Germany. They were a group of pale, young pretty American boys and there was always some guy willing to push them around, push them down, take a few liberties-- and Joey was the only one big enough and Brooklyn enough to strike even the least little bit of intimidation, when that happened. Unfortunately, Joey couldn't fight for shit, didn't have the heart for it, and Lance had seen him pounded to a pulp more than once.

He wouldn't throw all this, stuff in him, at Joey any sooner than he would go on TRL and describe the dream he'd had last night, where he'd blown Justin while Chris fucked him, in the middle of an arena of roaring people, in the basement of a bar covered in mattresses, and a big banner with Brad Pitt's approving face on it dangling from the ceiling. He'd woken up sweating and hard, and jacked off wondering if self-improvement was really masturbation, and if the opposite was also true. 

so he says, "you just, you know how much I hate rehearsal. I'm just stressed out. Worried about the tour."

Joey pulls back and nods. "Well, hey. We'll take tomorrow off. Go see a movie or something. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Just get some rest right now, okay? Try not to think about it."

"Okay."

He dips forward and presses a kiss against Lance's forehead. "You're fine."

Lance nods and says, okay.

________

He wants to pick a fight with JC. Knows that it's stupid. Knows that he'd be no better than Chris and Justin, if he did that. 

So he doesn't, on Monday.

________

lise says:

Monday, mondays. All mondays. End up being the same routine.

Start with an ice pack, yeah.

Mix in a strong drink, or a weak beer. Never a strong beer or a weak drink. Whiskey should be straight, tequila should be shot and burn and burn and burn... but beer should be like piss but thinner.

That's Chris and Justin's monday morning.

Lance stares over a bowl of wheat germ at them on the sofa, and when JC starts yelling, 'okay, who ate all my goddamned cheerios!' he jumps up, spoon clatters down. His face is a little flushed. He was panting.

Lance realizes that he was envisioning Joey with a black eye.

So, fucking, crude.

Chris's eyes flit up from the bandaging job he was doing. "Lance."

Lance throws him a look of disgust -- it's all in the eyes -- shaking his head, face calm and impassive while that desperate feeling comes back. Opens his mouth, licks his lips, feels his knuckles hurt.

Justin groans, ice pack held like some bronze shield, up to a damaged eye. "Jesus christ, lance. What's gotten into you?"

Lance stands up, upper lip curling just a little bit. No one notices. "Nothing, Justin. Fear of the devil. I gotta, go."

He thanks god that Joey wasn't around, was away. Didn't see the erection.

________

mooooore.