Fic: Not Enough (Chris/Justin)
God, took me longer than I thought. Like always. I have so much stuff to do still; pack, make a potato salad (And guess what? Potatoes can burn.), clean my room so my sister can sleep here on Sunday... And that stupid BWL professor wants to hold a class tomorrow at 2. I had been planning to be well on my way to the festival by that time. Now we'll get there late and we'll get a bad parking space that's too far from the entrance to the camping site and we'll have to drag our stuff over the whole parking lot.
The only thing that's cheering me up at the moment is that Germany lost against the Czech Republik. Now they've literally kicked themselves out of the European Soccer Championship. They deserved it.
Enough complaining; on to the story. Ficlet really.
Timbertrick, and Justin thinks they all want more more more.
Not Enough
"Hey," Chris said quietly as Justin plopped down beside him, popping a can of Sprite and taking a long sip with his eyes closed. Chris watched him swallow. "What's up?"
"Nothing," Justin sighed before opening his eyes. They were glimmering in a faint gray, reflecting the light of the big shades that were softly illuminating the site where Lance was photographed now, makeup artist and hairstylist buzzing over him like busy ants tending to their queen. "Just tired, I guess."
Chris raised his arm in silent offer, and Justin slipped under it immediately, curling close. Sometimes, Justin needed affection like he needed air, and Chris instinctively knew when to give it. He slid his hand into Justin's hair, combing lightly through it. Justin was finished for today, so Chris didn't have to worry about messing it up. Justin put the can onto the small table in front of them and slumped back, closing his eyes again.
"Are you sure everything's okay?" Chris asked.
Justin turned his head, nodding into Chris' neck. "I need some sleep."
Chris agreed, rubbing Justin's shoulder, but he knew that wasn't the only thing that had Justin be so tense under his arm, unrelaxing. He didn't press it, though, just pulled Justin in and kept petting him, his hands gentle, head resting on top of Justin's curls. He didn't care about how many of the crew people saw them like this or the fact that some of them were already glancing their way, confused. Justin needed this, and Chris would give it to him. From the other sofa, he could see Joey looking over, eyebrows raised in question. Chris shook his head slightly, hoping that Joey understood.
Eventually, Justin spoke. "Do you ever wonder," he said. He had his head still down, so that he was talking to Chris' armpit, really, "why what we're doing is not enough?"
"What do you mean?" Chris said, his voice barely a whisper, like he was talking to a scared child and not a nineteen-year-old, grown-up man who hadn't been a kid anymore since he'd been twelve.
"I mean, this should be about the music, right? Not about us or. It shouldn't matter how we're looking."
"Aww, c'mon, Curly," Chris couldn't help teasing him, stifling a grin, "you like to be all prettied up. You like the signs in the audience offering to bear your child."
Justin actually smiled a little, blushing. "Yeah, well, that's pretty cool. Just." He went serious again very fast, pressing against Chris' side. "We're giving them so much, and all they want is more more more. Look at him," Justin tipped his head toward the other sofa where Joey and JC were sitting in a similar position, mirroring them. Joey had his arm around JC, whose eyes were only half open. He looked like his head would drop onto Joey's shoulder any second now. "He's fucking exhausted, and it hasn't even been his turn yet."
Chris shrugged. "It's JC. He always looks like that if he didn't get his fourteen hours of sleep."
"Chris," Justin said in that warning tone that his voice always picked up when he thought people didn't take him seriously. He'd used it a lot in the first few months when they'd put the band together; his 'I'm not a kid, don't tell me what to do' voice.
Chris tightened his arm quickly. "Shh, hey. No. I know what you mean. Just- We sing, we dance, we keep up a nice appearance, we sell records. It's what we do, Justin."
Justin sighed deeply. "I know. It's only- Sometimes I wish we could keep a little more to ourselves, you know?"
Chris wasn't quite sure if he understood what Justin meant, so he nudged him lightly, prompting him to go on.
"Like, sometimes I just want people to respect that I have a private life, too," Justin said. "There- Yesterday, when we came back from the show, there was this girl at the hotel. We'd messed up Strings, and I was so tired. All I wanted really was to get into my bed and sleep, so I said to her, not right now, and that she should just ask one of you guys, but she- She said she only wanted one autograph, but then she wanted another one, for her sister or something, and one for her mother, and for God knows who fucking else." Justin looked down at his hands, picking at his nails, that were filed down to neat half-moons. "So I told her no, that I'd only give her the one and if she wanted another she should write to our fanclub or something. And she said, 'Fuck you, I thought you were a nice guy.' And I got mad and said, 'Fuck you,' right back, and then Joey came and pulled me away." Justin looked up at Chris with eyes that seemed so infinitely big at that moment, shining with unasked questions and, Chris realized with dismay, guilt. "Like, does that make me bad, Chris? That I didn't-"
"Hey, hey," Chris held up his hand, cutting him off. "It doesn't make you anything," Chris' mouth curved into a small smile. "You just wanted some privacy. That's okay. Everybody needs that once in a while. And she shouldn't have said that. That wasn't- It wasn't right."
"They all want a piece of us," Justin muttered darkly, sliding a hand through his hair. Chris remembered a girl asking Justin to clip off a lock for her about a week ago and how shocked Justin had been. "We could sell chunks of our flesh and they'd still scream for more."
"Well, they probably would." Chris nodded, then made a thoughtful face. "If we ever do, though, I think we should cut up Joey first; that's gonna buy us some time."
"Shut up," Justin said, punching Chris in the gut, but he was smiling again. He curled back up under Chris' arm, picking off the can of Sprite from the table.
Chris took a look around, at Lance, who was still posing, and at Joey and JC on the other couch. JC's head had indeed fallen to Joey's shoulder by now, eyes shut tightly, and Joey was petting JC's neck with careful fingertips. Chris squeezed Justin's shoulder. "C'mon, let's go find Lonnie or someone and get out of here, what d'you say? Haul a cab, go back to the hotel. You need some sleep, and the others are gonna manage without us.
Justin bit his lip. "What if they want some more group shots?"
"Well, fuck them then, our name has just become YNC." Chris got up and grabbed Justin's hand to pull him up, too. Justin seemed reluctant to move at all. "They've already got three whole films of us anyway. That's enough."
"Okay." Once standing, Justin hung heavily onto Chris. He definitely needed to rest, more than he would admit. Chris would take him to the hotel and put him to bed.
Later that night, when they were both still a little post-show high, Chris would spread Justin out on his bed, touch him from head to toe, until Justin was sweating again, from something else than dancing. When he was naked and trembling under Chris' body, Chris would bend down and whisper it into Justin's ear, while he moved his fingers slickly inside, "But they'll never get this."
The only thing that's cheering me up at the moment is that Germany lost against the Czech Republik. Now they've literally kicked themselves out of the European Soccer Championship. They deserved it.
Enough complaining; on to the story. Ficlet really.
Timbertrick, and Justin thinks they all want more more more.
Not Enough
"Hey," Chris said quietly as Justin plopped down beside him, popping a can of Sprite and taking a long sip with his eyes closed. Chris watched him swallow. "What's up?"
"Nothing," Justin sighed before opening his eyes. They were glimmering in a faint gray, reflecting the light of the big shades that were softly illuminating the site where Lance was photographed now, makeup artist and hairstylist buzzing over him like busy ants tending to their queen. "Just tired, I guess."
Chris raised his arm in silent offer, and Justin slipped under it immediately, curling close. Sometimes, Justin needed affection like he needed air, and Chris instinctively knew when to give it. He slid his hand into Justin's hair, combing lightly through it. Justin was finished for today, so Chris didn't have to worry about messing it up. Justin put the can onto the small table in front of them and slumped back, closing his eyes again.
"Are you sure everything's okay?" Chris asked.
Justin turned his head, nodding into Chris' neck. "I need some sleep."
Chris agreed, rubbing Justin's shoulder, but he knew that wasn't the only thing that had Justin be so tense under his arm, unrelaxing. He didn't press it, though, just pulled Justin in and kept petting him, his hands gentle, head resting on top of Justin's curls. He didn't care about how many of the crew people saw them like this or the fact that some of them were already glancing their way, confused. Justin needed this, and Chris would give it to him. From the other sofa, he could see Joey looking over, eyebrows raised in question. Chris shook his head slightly, hoping that Joey understood.
Eventually, Justin spoke. "Do you ever wonder," he said. He had his head still down, so that he was talking to Chris' armpit, really, "why what we're doing is not enough?"
"What do you mean?" Chris said, his voice barely a whisper, like he was talking to a scared child and not a nineteen-year-old, grown-up man who hadn't been a kid anymore since he'd been twelve.
"I mean, this should be about the music, right? Not about us or. It shouldn't matter how we're looking."
"Aww, c'mon, Curly," Chris couldn't help teasing him, stifling a grin, "you like to be all prettied up. You like the signs in the audience offering to bear your child."
Justin actually smiled a little, blushing. "Yeah, well, that's pretty cool. Just." He went serious again very fast, pressing against Chris' side. "We're giving them so much, and all they want is more more more. Look at him," Justin tipped his head toward the other sofa where Joey and JC were sitting in a similar position, mirroring them. Joey had his arm around JC, whose eyes were only half open. He looked like his head would drop onto Joey's shoulder any second now. "He's fucking exhausted, and it hasn't even been his turn yet."
Chris shrugged. "It's JC. He always looks like that if he didn't get his fourteen hours of sleep."
"Chris," Justin said in that warning tone that his voice always picked up when he thought people didn't take him seriously. He'd used it a lot in the first few months when they'd put the band together; his 'I'm not a kid, don't tell me what to do' voice.
Chris tightened his arm quickly. "Shh, hey. No. I know what you mean. Just- We sing, we dance, we keep up a nice appearance, we sell records. It's what we do, Justin."
Justin sighed deeply. "I know. It's only- Sometimes I wish we could keep a little more to ourselves, you know?"
Chris wasn't quite sure if he understood what Justin meant, so he nudged him lightly, prompting him to go on.
"Like, sometimes I just want people to respect that I have a private life, too," Justin said. "There- Yesterday, when we came back from the show, there was this girl at the hotel. We'd messed up Strings, and I was so tired. All I wanted really was to get into my bed and sleep, so I said to her, not right now, and that she should just ask one of you guys, but she- She said she only wanted one autograph, but then she wanted another one, for her sister or something, and one for her mother, and for God knows who fucking else." Justin looked down at his hands, picking at his nails, that were filed down to neat half-moons. "So I told her no, that I'd only give her the one and if she wanted another she should write to our fanclub or something. And she said, 'Fuck you, I thought you were a nice guy.' And I got mad and said, 'Fuck you,' right back, and then Joey came and pulled me away." Justin looked up at Chris with eyes that seemed so infinitely big at that moment, shining with unasked questions and, Chris realized with dismay, guilt. "Like, does that make me bad, Chris? That I didn't-"
"Hey, hey," Chris held up his hand, cutting him off. "It doesn't make you anything," Chris' mouth curved into a small smile. "You just wanted some privacy. That's okay. Everybody needs that once in a while. And she shouldn't have said that. That wasn't- It wasn't right."
"They all want a piece of us," Justin muttered darkly, sliding a hand through his hair. Chris remembered a girl asking Justin to clip off a lock for her about a week ago and how shocked Justin had been. "We could sell chunks of our flesh and they'd still scream for more."
"Well, they probably would." Chris nodded, then made a thoughtful face. "If we ever do, though, I think we should cut up Joey first; that's gonna buy us some time."
"Shut up," Justin said, punching Chris in the gut, but he was smiling again. He curled back up under Chris' arm, picking off the can of Sprite from the table.
Chris took a look around, at Lance, who was still posing, and at Joey and JC on the other couch. JC's head had indeed fallen to Joey's shoulder by now, eyes shut tightly, and Joey was petting JC's neck with careful fingertips. Chris squeezed Justin's shoulder. "C'mon, let's go find Lonnie or someone and get out of here, what d'you say? Haul a cab, go back to the hotel. You need some sleep, and the others are gonna manage without us.
Justin bit his lip. "What if they want some more group shots?"
"Well, fuck them then, our name has just become YNC." Chris got up and grabbed Justin's hand to pull him up, too. Justin seemed reluctant to move at all. "They've already got three whole films of us anyway. That's enough."
"Okay." Once standing, Justin hung heavily onto Chris. He definitely needed to rest, more than he would admit. Chris would take him to the hotel and put him to bed.
Later that night, when they were both still a little post-show high, Chris would spread Justin out on his bed, touch him from head to toe, until Justin was sweating again, from something else than dancing. When he was naked and trembling under Chris' body, Chris would bend down and whisper it into Justin's ear, while he moved his fingers slickly inside, "But they'll never get this."