Discovery: The Other Team
by Karen and LB
© 2002
They never spoke about that night. The morning after, JC did the proper guy thing and acted like it was just the alcohol. Lance, for his part, didn't ignore JC, but he avoided all discussions of the "couch incident." The only good thing about that day was that Lance was leaving so they'd each have the time to get back to their lives and pretend it never happened.
Except that it had. And Lance can't forget it, no matter how he tries. And JC is coming back to Orlando today and they have a group meeting and it will be the first time they'll have seen each other since . . . that night. So when Lance enters the comfortably furnished room in Johnny's compound, it's with mixed fear and anticipation.
JC has to go straight to the meeting from the airport, so when he gets there, he's tired and cranky and generally unhappy. And his trepidation about seeing Lance doesn't make it better.
JC blames himself. He had been the sober one. He's the one who'd allowed things to progress. And he'd liked it, and wanted it, and what kind of way was that to think about his bandmate, his brother?
JC is already there, seated, looking like the plane dragged him here through the air instead of flying him. "Hey," Lance says, then looks away and takes a seat across the room.
"Hey, Lance," JC says, uncomfortably. He squirms in his chair, which seems to consist of knobs and knots and hard places. He needs a shower and a nap. He needs not to be in a room with Lance. Or else to be in an entirely different room with only Lance.
And so it goes through the meeting. When they finally wrap things up, hours later, Lance can tell JC is about to fall asleep right there on the couch. On the couch. The memory hits him like a brick, and it terrifies him.
"JC? JC?" Johnny's voice finally penetrates, and JC looks up groggily. "Mike's waiting with the car. Get home, get some rest." JC pulls himself up and practically sleepwalks to the door, grateful that the bodyguard picked him up, that he doesn't have to deal with driving and luggage and thinking when he's like this.
*****
Justin waits impatiently as the phone rings, bouncing a ball against the wall. "C'mon, C, pick up."
JC groans, wishes he had turned off the phone, buries his head under the pillow, prays for the phone to spontaneously combust, and finally picks it up. "Yeah?"
"What are you doing?"
"Sleeping. And I'd like to get back to it."
"I scored Magic tickets. Come on, it'll be fun."
"For you, maybe."
"Come on, C, don't be a stick. You can sleep later."
"I can watch basketball later."
"No you can't. The game starts in an hour. Come ON, dude."
"You're not going to stop bugging me till I say yes, are you?"
"How'd you guess? So you might as well say yes so you can get in the shower and wake yourself up."
"Fine. Come get me."
"Okay. Lance and Chris are meeting us there."
"LANCE is? And he knows you're calling me?"
"Uh . . . yeah. What's the matter? He seemed fine about it."
"Nothing. He just usually doesn't like basketball that much."
"He likes to watch it. He just sucks playing it."
JC laughs. "So he's a basketball voyeur?"
"Something like that. So I'll pick you up in 15 minutes?"
"Twenty." After saying goodbye, JC pulls himself off the bed and manages to get himself into a revitalizing shower. We've got to start hanging out again sometime, he muses. Get back to normal. Okay.
*****
"Let me have some of your fries," orders Chris.
"You're gonna eat them all," whines Lance, just as he spots Justin squeezing into their row, followed by Trace and . . . JC. Shit. Well, it was bound to happen sometime, he thinks. Lance nods in their direction. There are three empty seats to his left.
JC hesitates when he sees the expression on Lance's face. What's up with that? Hadn't Justin said Lance knew he was coming?
"Go ahead, dude, I'm gonna run to the little boy's room," says Justin.
JC grimaces and tries to leave the seat between himself and Lance empty, but Trace pushes at him. "Move DOWN, dude."
Misreading JC's hesitancy as a desire to be as far away from Lance as possible, Lance turns his attention to the court, where the players are warming up.
"Um, how have you been?" JC ventures, feeling idiotic.
"Good." Lance nods his head, still staring at the players. "How about you?"
"I, you know, got some studio work done and some writing. Missed you . . . you guys."
"Me too. It feels good to be back."
"Yeah, it does. Real good. So what have you been up to?"
"I went to visit my parents."
"Oh," JC said, surprised. He'd thought Lance had been in Orlando this whole time. He decides it's simply proof of how separate their lives really are. "That's good."
"Yeah, it was good to see them and stuff. I just needed to talk to them." Suddenly, the crowd erupts as the game begins.
JC turns his attention to the game, or at least pretends to. He's very conscious of Lance's presence next to him. And of Lance's apparent discomfort. For all their words to the contrary, JC hopes they didn't really damage their friendship with their little flirtation.
Lance sucks nervously at his soda, but soon the sound of air and ice tells him he's reached the end. "I'm gonna get a soda. Anybody want anything?"
Chris starts giving elaborate instructions as to what he wants, involving precise proportions of relish to mustard on his hot dog, and Trace and Justin ask for beers. "Want me to come to help you carry it all back?" JC offers.
Surprised that JC would want to be alone with him--as alone as you can be at a packed arena--Lance shrugs and says, "Sure."
JC stands. "So, that was ketchup and chocolate sauce on that hotdog?" he asks Chris, smiling his most angelic smile.
"Screw off. You could use a few of those, C."
"Come on," interjects Lance. "I'll buy you one."
"Yeah, Lance," Chris says. "Buy C a weiner." JC blushes and heads to the aisle.
Lance ignores the order and soon they're in the concourse. "What do you want?" asks Lance, pulling out his wallet.
"Popcorn. And a soda. Orange." JC smiles at Lance, comfortable for the first time. "How'd we get roped into going anywhere with those bozos?"
"Aw, it's okay. It was nice of Justin to give us the tickets. And if you just keep feeding Chris, he's too busy chewing to bother you."
JC laughs. "Thanks. I'll have to remember that one."
"I thought you knew that."
"Maybe I did. But I forgot."
"I guess you never really know anyone."
"I think you can."
"Maybe."
"If you want to." They finally reach the counter and order their food and drinks, putting an end to the conversation for a few minutes.
There's an awkward moment as they juggle drink cups and food, but they're soon back in their seats. Lance gets into the game and tries to forget the conversation from moments before. By halftime, he's enjoying himself . . . and the company.
"I want another beer," Justin whines. "C . . . "
"Do I look like your slave, Justin?"
"C'mon. I don't wanna get recognized."
"Like he won't?" asks Lance.
"Yeah, I'm famous too, you know," JC says and pouts.
"Fine, I'll go," groans Lance.
JC grabs Lance's arm and doesn't let him stand. "Don't let him scam you, dude."
The touch is all it takes. All the memories of the night they danced together flood Lance like a broken faucet, and he remains bolted to his seat staring at JC.
"Fine," grouses Justin. "I'll get it myself. But if I get mobbed I'm gonna blame you."
"That's good," JC says, not taking his eyes off Lance's.
Lance breaks eye contact first, sipping at his soda like he hasn't had a drink in days.
JC sits back in his seat. "Um, good, um, game."
"Yeah."
"Sorry."
"About what?"
JC gestures, repeating his grab at Lance's arm without actually touching him.
"You're sorry you touched me?"
"I'm sorry if it bothered you."
"I guess it bothered you more."
"Nope. I'm fine."
"That's why you felt the need to apologize?"
"No. I, um. Good game, huh?"
"You said that already."
"I know. I'm just . . . not sure how to BE around you."
"I didn't know you had to be a certain way." At this point, the game has resumed and Justin has returned to his seat. It's too loud to talk, so Lance sits back and watches the game, all the while thinking about JC.
JC withdraws into his interior world, trying to figure out what's going on. Justin had assured him Lance knew JC was coming, yet Lance seemed startled to see him. There had been an electric moment when JC had touched Lance's arm. JC had felt it and he was willing to bet Lance had too, judging by his reaction, yet Lance would not acknowledge that anything was different between them. JC wanted his friend back. Maybe more, but at least that.
The game goes into overtime, but by 10:30 it's over. "You guys want to hang for a while?" asks Justin.
"Huh?" JC says, befuddled. "I think maybe I should get back to the nap you interrupted."
"Is that all you do, sleep?"
"I did just fly in today and go straight to a very long meeting. I'm allowed to sleep."
"Okay, you don't have to get all pissy on me. Lance? Chris?"
"Sure," Chris says, enthusiastically.
"I think I'm gonna head home, too. We have that session tomorrow and I want to read some scripts tonight."
"Well, then why don't you take C, since you're both going home, and we'll take Chris?"
"Okay. I guess. If it's all right with you."
"Yeah, if you don't mind going out of your way."
"It's no problem. Really."
"Thanks." JC says good night to Chris, Justin, and Trace, then follows Lance out into the cool night.
Lance pops a CD in the player to break the deafening silence inside the truck. He sings along softly, eyes focused on the road ahead.
"This is nice," JC offers, gesturing at the CD player.
"It's new. Stacy gave it to me--they're up and coming, but I think they'll be pretty big soon."
"I like it. A lot." JC starts humming a harmony line.
"You can borrow it if you want."
"Really? Thanks, I'd like that."
They've reached JC's small but a comfortable house, and Lance ejects the CD and puts it back in its jewel case. "Here. Keep it as long as you like. The third song is so good."
JC takes the proffered CD. "Thanks. And thanks for the ride. And . . . sorry if I was . . . weird tonight."
"You weren't. Well, maybe a little weird."
"I'm always a LITTLE weird."
"You'd be boring if you weren't."
"I've been told I'm that, too."
"Boring? Who says you're boring?"
"Lots of people. Because I'd rather stay home and write most of the time and stuff like that."
"You're like the least boring person I know. The only thing you won't do is get a tattoo."
"Yeah, that's me. Brave, adventurous. Bold, even."
"You're talking crazy."
JC smiles ruefully. If he'd been any of those things, he'd at least have kissed Lance that night. He'd be kissing him now. "You calling me crazy, now?"
"I'm saying that, you know, what you're saying about yourself is crazy."
"That's crazy," JC says with a grin, reaching for the door handle.
I could be a lot crazier, thinks Lance. I could kiss you right now. I could grab you and kiss you. But he doesn't. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah. Tomorrow." JC puts a hand on Lance's shoulder, squeezes, doesn't let go.
Lance doesn't flinch, doesn't push it off. He simply smiles at JC and nods.
Slowly, reluctantly, JC pulls his hand away. "Good night." He jumps out of the truck.
Lance waits until JC is safely inside his house, then pulls away into the quiet night.
The next morning, Lance awakens more refreshed than he has in days. He's eager to get to work, to do what he loves doing. As he pours himself a glass of juice, he dials JC's number.
JC is up, uncharacteristically early for him, and playing the piano. Not writing, not doing it for any reason but the feel of the keys under his hands, the sweet tone of it in his ears. He looks up when the phone rings, as startled and confused by the sound as if he HAD been sleeping. He glances over his shoulder, locates the phone, and follows the sound, dropping into a chair as he says "Hello?"
"Hi, JC, it's Lance. Do you need a ride to the studio?"
"No, my car's here. I just needed a ride last night because Justin picked me up. But thanks."
"Oh. Okay. I guess I'll see you there." Lance hangs up the phone and silently berates himself. You don't want to start this again.
By the time JC arrives at the studio, he's been over a thousand scenarios in his mind. Lance was just being polite. Lance is interested. Lance is just being a friend. He really isn't sure what's going on, but the one thing he's sure of is that Lance's call made him happy. And it shows.
Lance kicks into business mode as soon as he arrives at the studio. He goes over the list of songs they're going to work on and heads to a private room to warm up.
JC waits for everyone to be ready, shimmering with energy. He loves this process, loves working with his best friends. He greets everyone who arrives in the studio, and when Lance comes in, JC's smile is huge and sunny.
"Hey." Lance slaps JC's hand just as he had everyone else's and takes a seat on the couch as each of his bandmates takes a turn in the booth. JC concentrates on the board, absorbed in what he's doing, but still very aware of Lance's presence behind him.
Hours and several tracks later, Joey asks, "How we doing?"
JC looks up. "It's coming along. Pretty much everyone's done except me and Justin."
The engineer speaks up, "We messed up Lance's track, so he'll need to do it again, but Justin says he's done at the end of this take," he says, gesturing at the impatient boy in the booth.
Lance is on the phone when he hears his name. "What's that?"
"You need to re-record some of your stuff. Can you stay?"
"Sure. Whatever you want." Inside, Lance feels that jittery excitement at the thought of spending time in the booth with just JC.
Justin finishes up and leaves, and JC moves into the booth. He slips into his usual recording mode, completely caught up in the sound, the emotion the lyrics evoke.
Lance takes a seat behind the control panel and listens. He forgets about the events of the past few weeks and just listens to the reason he fell for JC in the first place. Yes, he finally admits it to himself as JC's voice fills the room.
JC simply sits in the booth for a couple of minutes when he's done, collecting himself. When he finally comes out, he's calm and pleased with the work he's done.
Lance spits out his gum and takes a sip of water, and as he passes JC on his way into the booth says, "That sounded great."
"Thanks," JC says. He settles himself behind the board.
"Hey, JC," the engineer says. "I got another job. I was supposed to be out of here at 8. Can you finish up by yourself?"
"Yeah, no problem. Have a good night." JC flips on the mic to speak to Lance in the booth. "Looks like it's just you and me, kid."
Lance shifts on the stool. It's one thing to sing in front of a small audience of sound engineers. It's another to sing in front of your crush. I can do this.
"You ready?" JC asks, looking through the glass at Lance. "You want to run it once or go straight to tape?"
"I can go to tape." He holds one earpiece of the headphones up and waits for the cue, tearing his eyes away from JC.
"Okay," JC switches off the mic and flips a couple of switches on the board. He nods to Lance and starts recording.
Lance closes his eyes and sings, then opens them and concentrates on the words. It's only a short part, but when it's over he waits. "How was that?"
"It was good . . . but I think you can do better."
Swallowing hard, Lance expected that reaction. It wasn't his best. "You're right. That was pretty bad. Cue me."
"I didn't say it was bad," JC says, cuing up the tape. "I just, I know you have more in you."
This time when Lance opens his mouth the sound is stronger, more confident. He forgets he's alone with JC and just enjoys the song.
A smile spreads over JC's face as he watches Lance and hears the improvement in his sound. Lance looks relaxed, confident, and that, to JC, is very, very sexy.
"Better?" Lance asks, lowering the headphones.
"Better. Want to do it one more time to be sure?"
"Okay. One for safety."
"And Lance? Don't just sing the lyrics--feel them. Let yourself think of someone who makes you feel like what the lyrics say."
A familiar blush creeps into Lance's face, that rosy hue that invades his cheeks whenever the topic of people he likes is brought up. If JC had any clue about whom Lance is about to picture in his mind as he sings he'd run screaming from the sound booth. But Lance does it anyway. He tries not to look at JC but instead sees him in his mind, laughing hysterically at some silly joke, or smiling when a fan hands him a stuffed animal, or singing with more passion than an opera singer.
JC finds himself standing, bending like a pliant reed toward the glass that separates him from Lance. The part of his brain that's still working realizes he's getting a great take--something strong enough to be a lead vocal, in JC's opinion. But mostly he just lets the passion and beauty of the sound wash over him.
When Lance finishes, there's silence. Silence so deafening Lance can hear the blood pulsing through his veins. He turns toward JC, waiting for a response.
JC blinks, shakes his head, fumbles for the mic. "That was . . . perfect."
"You sure? I can do it again."
"You don't understand. I didn't say it was good. It was perfect."
Lance gazes down at the floor, smiling but trying not to beam so much. "Thanks. So, um, are we, like, done here?"
JC looks startled. "Oh, um, yeah. Yeah, I guess we are."
"Okay. Then I guess I'll see you later." Lance exits the recording booth and starts gathering up his belongings.
JC tries not to look upset, so he fiddles with some knobs and records something illegible on a clipboard. "Oh, yeah. Good night." What did I expect? he scolds himself.
"You're not leaving?"
"What? Oh, yeah." JC drops the clipboard on the counter and looks around for his stuff.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, you said that."
"Oh. Okay. Bye then." Lance heads for the door, shaking his head slightly at his stupidity.
JC takes a deep breath. "Um, what are you doing? I mean, now. We could, we could, um, get a bite?"
Lance pauses, hand on the doorknob. "Yeah? I am kind of hungry."
"Not eating for hours will do that to you." JC grabs his things. "Angelo's?" JC says, naming a small restaurant that the boys often visit because it's obscure. No one ever recognizes them at Angelo's, or if they do, they're discreet enough not to mention it.
Lance's stomach grumbles in agreement, and he laughs. "I guess that would be a yes."
JC smiles back. "You wanna take my car and we can swing back for your truck?"
"Okay." Inside JC's car, Lance fidgets nervously. It's not a date. This is NOT a date. At the restaurant, he studies the menu like it's the bible.
JC looks up from his menu, amused by Lance's intent perusal. "Wanna split a pizza?"
"Sure." Lance meets JC's gaze. In the dim light of the restaurant, JC's blue-gray eyes twinkle. "Anything but mushrooms."
"Someday I AM going to prove to you that mushrooms are good."
"You couldn't get me to eat those if you paid me." He shudders and makes a face.
"What if I paid you a LOT?"
"How much?"
JC intones "One MILLION dollars," crooking his little finger.
Lance throws his head back and laughs. "Not even for a MILLION dollars," he replies, mimicking JC. "They're gross. They're all chewy and . . . gross."
"Not if they're done right. But okay. No mushrooms today. Half plain and half pepperoni? And salads. And wings. And . . . any ideas?"
"And they have the best chocolate cream pie for dessert."
"I wasn't even THINKING about dessert yet--ooh, cannolis, too . . . It's good to be with someone who has their priorities straight. Um, be here with. Be eating with."
"Yeah, I like a guy who can eat. I mean, it's fun hanging out with someone who likes food." He cringes inside as the realization of how idiotic he sounds hits him. Fortunately, he's saved from further embarrassment when the waitress comes over to take their order.
They order enough food to make the small table groan. They both look relieved when the waitress brings over their beers along with a basket of bread and a small cruet of herbed oil. Glad to have something to do with their hands, they both reach for bread and pour oil into their bread plates. "So, that was a really good session for our first day back, huh?"
Lance nods as he chews, and after he swallows, says, "It was great. I love that song you wrote."
"Thanks. You did a great job on it. You guys, I mean."
Their salads arrive. Lance digs in hungrily. "Did you go over the script for tomorrow's Nick shoot?"
"A little. I kind of got distracted writing." And by you.
"We can run the lines before the shoot, if you want."
"Thanks, that would be great."
"It's pretty funny."
"Yeah, they usually do a good job," JC says, munching some more bread and then unselfconsciously licking the oil from his fingers.
Lance's eyes are drawn to the fingers mid-chew, and he stares, transfixed, as JC's full lips close over the oil-slicked digits again and again.
JC notices Lance's gaze. "Oh, sorry. Bad manners, huh?"
"No. Um, no." He turns his attention back to his salad, but when the wings arrive he knows he's doomed. Nothing but lickable sauce on those delicacies.
JC reaches for a wing and takes a bite. "Mmmmm. Oh, man, I've been craving these. They make the BEST wings."
The first spicy bite burns Lance's lips as he tears into his own wing. "Mmmmm, so good," he murmurs.
JC can't help wondering if that's what Lance sounds like when he's enjoying other things. He's glad he has this spicy food to explain away any redness in his face.
Lance never noticed how sensually JC eats. It's as though whatever he's eating is the most delicious food on the planet. His cheeks become more defined, his eyes crinkle into tiny slits, the creases formed at the corners defining his pleasure. To Lance, watching JC eat is the most erotic thing.
JC drops some chicken bones into the plate provided, and his fingers immediately move to his mouth. He catches himself and reaches for some very inadequate paper napkins. "I needed this. Thanks for coming out with me."
Lance's head shoots up, eyes wide. How could he know? But then he comes to his senses when he sees that JC made a perfectly innocent comment. "I guess we don't do this that often."
"Yeah, it's been a while. Usually we're just too busy. But this, this is good."
"I, um, meant just you and me."
JC looks up, capturing Lance's eyes with his own. "Me, too."
There it is--the connection. He's not just imagining it; he's sure of it. And with that reassurance Lance allows himself to relax.
They work their way through a huge amount of food, as only active boys can, talking lightly of the music they're recording, the upcoming appearance, Ryan's demo. Finally, with pie and cannoli before them, they sit back, happily.
"Oh my gosh, I'm stuffed," Lance mock-whines, leaning back in his chair.
"Does that mean I get your pie, too?"
"It's yours," Lance leers, pushing the plate toward JC.
"You're giving up chocolate?" JC reaches over and touches Lance's forehead. "Hmm. No fever." He scoops up some whipped cream on his finger and offers it to Lance. "Not even a little . . . ?"
Lance pulls his head back and grimaces. It's too tempting. What if he's been reading JC all wrong. He pushes the finger away playfully. "Nah, I'll burst if I do."
"Oh, okay," JC says, taken aback a bit. He'd been so sure. But then, he's been sure before with Lance, and been wrong.
"Is it good?"
"Real good. You sure you don't want just a taste?" JC says persuasively.
"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm really full." To emphasize, he pushes away from the table and pats his stomach.
"What are you gonna do to work it off?"
"Sit ups? Lots of sit ups?" Lance narrows his eyes and continues, "Why--what else do you know burns calories fast?"
"Push ups?"
"Hmmm. I'll have to try that."
"Bet you're good at . . . push ups."
"I suck at them. But you . . . "
JC shrugs. "I'm okay, I guess."
"Aw, I've seen you work out."
"We should . . . work out together sometime."
"Would you, um, spot me?"
"You know I would."
"So want to? Tomorrow?"
"Do we have time tomorrow?"
"Sure--after the shoot and before we head back to the studio."
"What would I do without you? Um, um, to keep the schedule straight and stuff like that."
"Get a Palm Pilot?"
"You're way cu--better than a Palm Pilot."
"But you can carry a Palm Pilot around in your pocket."
"I'll leave the gadgets to your . . . pockets."
"You can always borrow my gadgets."
JC pins Lance with a look. "It's not your gadgets I'm interested in."
No. It can't be. JC can't be saying what Lance thinks he's saying. No. He wouldn't . . . he's not . . . , is he? "W-what are you talking about?"
JC sighs. "Look, Lance, we can keep pretending that what happened-- almost happened in LA didn't happen. Or we can deal with it."
"Um, okay. But do we have to deal with it here?" He glances around nervously, as though the entire restaurant is riveted to their conversation.
"Nope. I was just gonna suggest that we head out . . . "
"We have to go get my truck."
"Let's go." JC throws money down on the table for the check and leads the way out.
Back at the studio, the parking lot is nearly empty. When JC pulls up next to Lance's truck, Lance gets out and stretches.
JC watches as Lance's muscles move under his clothing, rapt. "Where to?" he finally manages.
"Um, I don't know. I guess . . . what's going on, JC?"
"I, I'm not sure. But I'd like to find out."
"How? How do you find out something if you don't know what it is you're trying to find out in the first place?"
"It's not that mysterious. I-I'm attracted to you and I think, well, I hope . . . " JC corrects himself again, smiling at his own foolishness. "You seem to be attracted to me. What I want to find out is if there's anything, you know, THERE."
"What you're saying . . . what you're implying about us . . . this is crazy. What have we been doing?"
"Are you denying we got um, excited dancing together in LA?"
Lance shoves his hands in his pockets in a lame attempt to hide his embarrassment. "It was fun," he mumbles.
"Fun?"
"You didn't have fun?"
"Yeah. But that's probably not the first word I'd think of to describe it."
As though the pavement was the most fascinating thing on the planet, Lance lowers his head and rocks from foot to foot. "What word would you use?"
"Hot?"
"Are you, um, you know, gay?"
"I...I mean, I've looked at guys before, but I never, you know, wanted to follow through? You know, before?"
"Before we danced together?"
"Yeah, but I meant the other guys I've checked out."
"So, um, all this time, you've been . . . "
"I don't know! Do we have to put a label on it?"
Lance's brow furrows as he grows quiet. "I guess not," he says, after a moment.
JC says, softly, "I don't know if I'm gay. If you asked me two weeks ago, I would have said no. All I know is how you make me feel."
Now Lance turns his eyes up to JC's face, seeing nothing but truth on his friend's face. "How's that?"
"Alive?"
"You looked pretty alive before we, um, danced."
"That's what I thought, too."
"So what changed all that?"
"I don't know. We started spending more time together, and, and, things just kind of fell into place."
"Maybe it's just a phase. You know, because I broke up with Laura and you broke up with Em."
"Or maybe it's why I couldn't be with Em anymore."
"You broke up with Em because of me?"
"I broke up with Em because it didn't feel right anymore."
"I'm sorry it didn't work out."
"Do you wish I was still with her?"
"I don't know. I just want you to be happy."
JC looks up, catching Lance's eyes. "You do?"
"Of course I do. Why would you even question that?"
"I'm not. It's just . . . good to hear you say that."
"JC, we've always been friends, right? And friends want each other to be happy no matter what."
"Even if it means I'm gay?"
"That wouldn't make any difference to me."
"Even if it means I want you?"
Lance swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. "Yes."
JC's eyes widen. "Even if I was to kiss you?"
It's not cold out, but Lance begins to tremble, ever so slightly. "Yes."
JC steps closer and lightly kisses Lance's lips. He immediately notes the differences between this and kissing a girl. They way they're almost the same height. The slightly rough texture of Lance's chin. But Lance's lips are soft and JC smiles against them as they kiss.
Lance is too shocked to do anything other than let his body take over. His mind is elsewhere, paralyzed by the tantalizing taste of JC's lips. Soon, his hands rise to cup JC's face, and he's kissing him back with equal ardor.
JC finally releases Lance and steps back slightly. "I should, I should let you go."
"Um, yeah. So, um, thanks for having dinner with me."
"Our first date."
"Is that what it was?"
"Feels like it. Right down to the kiss goodnight."
"So, like, you asked me out?"
"Yeah, I guess I did."
"Thanks for dinner."
"Thanks for coming. I mean, joining me. I mean, thank you for having dinner with me."
"We're not gonna get all weird about this, are we?"
"No way. Friends first, right?"
"Right." Lance holds out his hand for a tradition man-hug.
The hug lasts longer than tradition requires, as JC learns the feeling of another man in his arms, the substantial feeling of Lance. But instead of pulling away, Lance holds onto JC's hand and kisses him, this time with more confidence.
If JC is surprised, he covers it well. He knows, as he knew with the first kiss, that the spark he'd suspected they had between them was ready to turn into a blaze.
Lance parts his lips and closes them over JC's again and again, until he knows that soon he'll reach the point where he won't be able to stop, so he pulls away, flustered. "Um, I guess I should go now."
JC looks at Lance, his eyes languid. "Mmm, do you have to?"
"Yeah. I don't want you to think I'm easy."
JC laughs delightedly. "Okay, you have a point. So, I'll, um, see you tomorrow?"
"I'll call you."
"Cool." JC watches Lance step up into his truck. "Good night."
Lance waves as he pulls away. All the way home he runs through the events of the day in his mind. He can't stop smiling, and that fluttery feeling in his stomach is most definitely not from the pizza. At home, he quickly changes into his pajamas and climbs into bed, then reaches for the phone. As promised, he calls JC.
JC, already sleepy, grabs the phone. "Hey."
"I, um, just wanted to say goodnight. And I had a really nice time."
"Me, too. REALLY nice."
"So, I guess it's my turn to ask you out."
"I guess it is," JC says, a smile in his voice.
"So, it's date?"
"Well . . . I guess that would be all right."
"Do you have to ask your mom?"
"Nah. I just didn't want you to think I was easy."
"Playing hard to get. I like that."
"I like YOU."
Lance is glad they're on the phone so JC can't see how he's blushing. "Sweet dreams, JC." Because Lance knows, without a doubt, that's exactly what he'll have.