Overture
[N'sync] [JC/Lance] [PG]
Overture
Author's Note: Written for crooked_halo8 at fic_requests.
i.
A boy walks onto the bus. His hair flounces, streaks of yellow among brown, hanging like curtains down the side of his face. That's the first time Lance sees JC.
He has headphones plugged into his ears, and he's bouncing his head to the beat, sort of humming-breathing the music like he's losing control to the rhythm.
"Hi," he says, as he slides into the seat next to Lance, pulling out his left earplug. It dangles from his ear like a fascinating sliver of thread, and Lance studies that instead of the bright, bright smile on his face.
"Hi," he says, back. It's a moment before he remembers his manners, and a slow half smile peeks through the startling green of his eyes. "I'm Lance Bass."
"JC Chasez," the boy grins back, enigmatic, and he twirls the headphone loosely between his fingers. "Wanna hear?"
By the time the bus turns into the corner before the school comes into view, Lance thinks David Bowie is his new favorite recording artiste.
ii.
Lance doesn't believe in luck. He sits in class, almost bored, and when the teacher announces that they're going to do group work, he rolls his eyes. With his luck, he'll end up with Nick Carter, class dunce. Or worse.
"Lucky break, huh?" Lance blinks, and looks up, and he raises an eyebrow in disbelief when he realizes who it is.
"You're kidding," he crows, lips curving upwards. "Maybe Shakespeare will actually be bearable."
JC slides into the empty seat next to Lance, shrugging, even though he's got that twinkle in his eyes that Lance knows better than his own. "I got you to like Bowie, remember? Shakespeare's not half that bad."
Lance remembers the smile on JC's face, all those years ago, the day they met on the bus, and it's there again, now, still bright and open and warm, and if his heartbeat kicks up a couple of notches, he's attributing it to Shakespeare's excitable reading material.
iii.
Lance has never had a problem with his sexuality. He kissed a girl called Meredith when he was six -- or, well, Meredith knocked him over and kissed him so hard he thought she'd sucked his lungs out -- and he's never tried it since.
He's never wanted to.
His parents knew, instinctively, and after months of ignoring it, they tackled it head on. They asked questions and offered help -- counselling, even -- and Lance said no, very calmly, to each suggestion.
Now his mom knows not to ask questions like, "have you met any nice girls lately, Lance?" unless she wants a patented smirk and an even snarkier answer.
But that doesn't stop her from asking, "who are you taking to the prom, Lance?" even though she might have shrunk back a little from the intensity of his glare.
iv.
So he brings it up, very casually, when they meet up to do their project. In between listening to JC gush about Romeo and Juliet, he throws out random names, like Michael Jackson, and Al Pacino, and then finally he blurts it out without entirely meaning to.
"Do you have anyone to go to the prom with?"
JC looks at him, frowning. "That's not what Romeo s--oh."
Lance nearly throws himself against the wall. "I heard Justin mention you hadn't asked anyone. Yet."
"I wasn't going to," JC says breezily, with a smile, and then his nose is tucked back into Shakespeare.
"Oh," Lance hopes he doesn't sound too dejected. He buries his face back in his copy of Shakespeare, too.
v.
"Good evening, Mrs Bass." Lance would recognize that voice anywhere. He bolts upright from where he's lying on his bed covers, listening intently. "Is Lance in?"
Padded footsteps, and Lance knows his mom knows he's heard every word. He nearly falls out of bed in his haste to reach the bedroom door. Backtracking to the mirror, he smooths his hair down, and tries to wipe the goofy smile off his face before lunging for the stairs.
He skids to a stop, strolling down the last few steps. "Hey, Jace," he smiles.
"If you hurry, we'll make it to the prom in time." JC's smile is infectious, and Lance doesn't bother trying to hide his delight. He flings his arms around JC, quick and tight. That's all he wants to hear.
vi.
They don't go to the prom.
They walk and they talk for hours, and hours. It's comfortable and it's friendly, and when Lance asks, "why didn't you ever say?" JC just shrugs, "I thought you'd figure it out."
They have their first kiss that night. It's JC's *first* kiss, and it's the first that's mattered to Lance. He supposes that evens them out.
JC's lips are warm and soft and his hair tickles Lance's cheek. Their bodies are pressed close, and they close their eyes, like they've been taught, and it feels like the moment passes in the eternity of a heartbeat.
It's not quite all that Lance expected -- there are no fancy moves, or fireworks, or stars dancing dizzily around his head, but there's a smile on his face, and when JC slips his hand into Lance's, there's a smile on his face, too.
Overture
Author's Note: Written for crooked_halo8 at fic_requests.
i.
A boy walks onto the bus. His hair flounces, streaks of yellow among brown, hanging like curtains down the side of his face. That's the first time Lance sees JC.
He has headphones plugged into his ears, and he's bouncing his head to the beat, sort of humming-breathing the music like he's losing control to the rhythm.
"Hi," he says, as he slides into the seat next to Lance, pulling out his left earplug. It dangles from his ear like a fascinating sliver of thread, and Lance studies that instead of the bright, bright smile on his face.
"Hi," he says, back. It's a moment before he remembers his manners, and a slow half smile peeks through the startling green of his eyes. "I'm Lance Bass."
"JC Chasez," the boy grins back, enigmatic, and he twirls the headphone loosely between his fingers. "Wanna hear?"
By the time the bus turns into the corner before the school comes into view, Lance thinks David Bowie is his new favorite recording artiste.
ii.
Lance doesn't believe in luck. He sits in class, almost bored, and when the teacher announces that they're going to do group work, he rolls his eyes. With his luck, he'll end up with Nick Carter, class dunce. Or worse.
"Lucky break, huh?" Lance blinks, and looks up, and he raises an eyebrow in disbelief when he realizes who it is.
"You're kidding," he crows, lips curving upwards. "Maybe Shakespeare will actually be bearable."
JC slides into the empty seat next to Lance, shrugging, even though he's got that twinkle in his eyes that Lance knows better than his own. "I got you to like Bowie, remember? Shakespeare's not half that bad."
Lance remembers the smile on JC's face, all those years ago, the day they met on the bus, and it's there again, now, still bright and open and warm, and if his heartbeat kicks up a couple of notches, he's attributing it to Shakespeare's excitable reading material.
iii.
Lance has never had a problem with his sexuality. He kissed a girl called Meredith when he was six -- or, well, Meredith knocked him over and kissed him so hard he thought she'd sucked his lungs out -- and he's never tried it since.
He's never wanted to.
His parents knew, instinctively, and after months of ignoring it, they tackled it head on. They asked questions and offered help -- counselling, even -- and Lance said no, very calmly, to each suggestion.
Now his mom knows not to ask questions like, "have you met any nice girls lately, Lance?" unless she wants a patented smirk and an even snarkier answer.
But that doesn't stop her from asking, "who are you taking to the prom, Lance?" even though she might have shrunk back a little from the intensity of his glare.
iv.
So he brings it up, very casually, when they meet up to do their project. In between listening to JC gush about Romeo and Juliet, he throws out random names, like Michael Jackson, and Al Pacino, and then finally he blurts it out without entirely meaning to.
"Do you have anyone to go to the prom with?"
JC looks at him, frowning. "That's not what Romeo s--oh."
Lance nearly throws himself against the wall. "I heard Justin mention you hadn't asked anyone. Yet."
"I wasn't going to," JC says breezily, with a smile, and then his nose is tucked back into Shakespeare.
"Oh," Lance hopes he doesn't sound too dejected. He buries his face back in his copy of Shakespeare, too.
v.
"Good evening, Mrs Bass." Lance would recognize that voice anywhere. He bolts upright from where he's lying on his bed covers, listening intently. "Is Lance in?"
Padded footsteps, and Lance knows his mom knows he's heard every word. He nearly falls out of bed in his haste to reach the bedroom door. Backtracking to the mirror, he smooths his hair down, and tries to wipe the goofy smile off his face before lunging for the stairs.
He skids to a stop, strolling down the last few steps. "Hey, Jace," he smiles.
"If you hurry, we'll make it to the prom in time." JC's smile is infectious, and Lance doesn't bother trying to hide his delight. He flings his arms around JC, quick and tight. That's all he wants to hear.
vi.
They don't go to the prom.
They walk and they talk for hours, and hours. It's comfortable and it's friendly, and when Lance asks, "why didn't you ever say?" JC just shrugs, "I thought you'd figure it out."
They have their first kiss that night. It's JC's *first* kiss, and it's the first that's mattered to Lance. He supposes that evens them out.
JC's lips are warm and soft and his hair tickles Lance's cheek. Their bodies are pressed close, and they close their eyes, like they've been taught, and it feels like the moment passes in the eternity of a heartbeat.
It's not quite all that Lance expected -- there are no fancy moves, or fireworks, or stars dancing dizzily around his head, but there's a smile on his face, and when JC slips his hand into Lance's, there's a smile on his face, too.