New fic: yes, it's popslash
Title: How Come You Don't Wanna Love May Me?
Fandom: Popslash
Pairing: JC/Lance
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: stalking, sort of
Prompt: 34) Hush
Summary: Lance is less than thrilled when his hubby, JC, suggests they move back to his boring picturesque hometown. Little does he know JC’s crazy former boyfriend, Justin, has an unhealthy obsession with JC. This infatuated ex will stop at nothing to get JC back - including impersonating Lance!
AN: I think the summary says it all, don't you? Written for the Lifetime Movie challenge, stori_telling. Thanks, Ash.
Gas City, Indiana. What a wonderful name. Named for Albert Gary, of judiciary fame -
Lance shook his head and mentally slapped himself on the forehead at the same time. Wrong city, not that Gas City could really be called a city, per se, in spite of its hopeful name. It certainly didn't have a song written about it, Lance knew that much.
He looked curiously out the car window as they drove into town. Couple of grocery stores, a run-down looking Kmart, a McDonalds, a few banks and gas stations, City Hall and the Gas City Library, a Mexican restaurant, a high school, and then, oops, they were shooting right out the other side of town.
Lance craned his neck around to stare at the Mississinawa High School sign receding in the distance behind them. "That’s it? That’s the whole place?" he asked in disbelief, uneasiness settling in his stomach. This was worse than he thought.
"No, that wasn’t the whole place," JC snapped. There was a defensive edge to his voice, for which Lance certainly didn’t blame him one little bit. He’d be defensive too, if he’d dragged his husband away from his very pleasant life in LA to live in this backwater -
JC’s voice interrupted his thoughts, which Lance had to concede was probably just as well. He was trying to be open-minded about this whole moving thing, so he pasted a cheerful smile on his face and tuned into whatever JC was saying.
" - and besides the park, Fairmount is just down the road. That’s where James Dean is buried, and they have a James Dean Festival every year, man, and it's awesome -"
Lance knew all about James Dean Days. It was pretty much the only claim to fame they had around here and JC had only mentioned it about a million times while he was trying to convince Lance that of all the fabulous places in the world to live, Gas City, Indiana was the place they should pick.
Lance eventually was persuaded, but only because JC's skill at giving head was much more convincing than his enthusiasm for small town festivals and long-dead movie stars.
Although Lance had to admit that James Dean had been kind of hot.
Moving back to JC's hometown was just supposed to be temporary. It was supposed to give JC a chance to get his shit together as a song-writer, and it was also, Lance suspected, supposed to get Lance away from the temptation of Rodeo Drive. Lance didn't figure the shopping in Gas City was much to write home about. Or write to anybody about, really.
JC had circled around back towards town and now he turned onto a small road off Main Street. "D" Street? What, they couldn't even think of any street names in this place? They couldn't get past one letter?
Halfway down the block, JC pulled the car into the driveway of a small one-story ranch house. "Here it is," he said excitedly. "This was my grandma's house!"
Lance sat, stunned at the feeling of betrayal as he stared at the small light-colored brick house with the aluminum siding and tiny front porch sitting dolefully in front of him. This was their new house? He was supposed to live here? He left their home in the Hollywood Hills, with the pool and the view and the famous neighbors to live in this…place?
There were lawn ornaments! A man in overalls and a woman in a polka-dot dress, cut out of what looked like plywood, were bent over as if they were weeding a garden. There was a ceramic goose wearing a bathing suit and sunglasses at the end of the sidewalk. A wooden wishing well graced the front lawn.
Wow, no wonder JC's parents had moved to Chicago. No wonder JC's mom had snickered over the phone when Lance and JC had called to tell them about their plans.
"Well, what do you think?" JC asked hopefully, turning to Lance with a tentative smile on his face.
Lance gave him a wan smile back and said, "It looks…cozy." He was rewarded with JC's eye-crinkle, and that almost cancelled out the evil goose. Stepping out of the car onto the cracked cement driveway, Lance added, "Let's see the inside," with what he hoped was appropriate enthusiasm.
Lance must have done a good job of faking it, because they'd barely gotten in the front door when JC tackled him into a kiss, pushing him back against the wall and saying against his lips, "I can't wait to christen every room, man. You're gonna look so pretty spread out across my grandma's bed."
Lance froze mid-tongue thrust. Okay, that was just creepy. He pulled back and stared at JC.
"What, dude?" JC's lips were shiny with spit, looking soft and inviting, and Lance almost got distracted from how completely inappropriate the idea of fucking on JC's grandma's furniture was. He shook his head.
"Nothing. Show me the kitchen. I guess we need to go to the grocery store, right?"
*
Across the street, a tallish man with broad shoulders, ripped abs, and skinny legs watched the new arrivals with narrowed eyes. He scratched at his neck scruff irritably and frowned. There was no way JC preferred that blond twink to himself.
The man straightened his shoulders. Ha. No way. This was gonna be easy. In no time at all, JC would be his again.
*
"When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last dying day," Lance sang as he loaded the dishwasher. He had to admit JC's grandma had spared no expense when it came time to buy appliances. It made him think fondly of the old lady he'd never met when he made coffee in the morning in their shiny Keurig brewer, or boiled water for macaroni and cheese on their Delonghi range.
"Little boy you're a man, little man, you're a king," he rumbled as he grape-vined across the small kitchen floor, snapping his fingers. He stopped short when he saw JC in the doorway, watching him with a besotted smile on his face.
Lance grinned and flushed with embarrassment at being caught. "What are you doing here? I thought you were seeing the lawyer?"
JC frowned. "There's a problem with the deed to the house. They can't transfer it to us."
"Why not?" Lance asked.
"Because they can't find Grandma's will." JC came further into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee maker.
"What do you mean, they can't find it?" Lance cocked his head curiously at JC. That didn't seem right.
JC sighed and peered into the empty coffee carafe. "I mean, they have no record, either on paper or electronic, that Grandma ever willed me this house."
The first thought that flashed through Lance's mind at these words was thank goodness. Now can we please go back to LA? That made him feel annoyingly guilty. JC really wanted to be here. Lance cleared his throat. "What the heck, JC?"
"I don't know, Lance. Grandma's lawyer knows it's what she wanted, he's read the will, he just can't find the actual paperwork. He says it'll be fine." He waved the empty coffee carafe at Lance, his eyes reproachful. "Dude."
"Sorry," Lance said. "I didn't realize I'd finished it." He tucked his fingers in the waistband of JC's jeans and tugged him forward into a kiss. "Let me make it up to you?" he breathed.
"What, do you have some more nice, hot coffee hidden around here somewhere?" JC smiled down at him.
Lance hummed, spurred on by the challenge implicit in JC's words. "I think we can do better than some ol' coffee," he said with a leer.
JC laughed happily and pushed him to his knees.
*
Justin Timberlake drew back from the kitchen window he'd been peering into. A frown marred his beautiful face. At least, he assumed a frown would mar it. Maybe a frown would make him look more handsome. Fierce and compelling, maybe. Something JC would respond to. Justin's frown deepened as he thought about it. JC couldn't call him a little boy anymore if he looked tough and grownup.
He quickly turned back to the window to check out his reflection in the glass. Hmm, not bad. He looked intense, kind of interesting. His nose still stuck out funny on the end, though, and…oh, god. He looked past his reflection into the kitchen and saw that the blond twink was on his knees, his hands tugging at JC's belt buckle.
There was no way Justin could watch this. No way was he going to stand here and watch JC's eyes close in bliss as his husband - Justin almost hissed at the word - sucked him off. No way.
He would leave now. He'd heard them talking about the missing will, and while he had hoped JC would be more upset about that than he seemed to be, Justin had also seen the hopeful look in the twink's eye when they'd been discussing it. So, Blondie didn't want to stay here in town. Justin could work with that.
Just as soon as he got out of here. He was leaving right now. Really. He was not watching this.
His eyes glued to the way JC's tongue came out to swipe across his plush mouth, at the way his teeth bit down on his bottom lip, Justin stumbled just a little on the green painted frog cunningly stuck in the flowerbed under the window.
Shit.
Moving more carefully, he edged his way around the side of the house and casually sauntered across the lawn to the street, back the way he'd come. He had more plans to finalize.
*
"Climb every mountain," Lance hummed under his breath as he pushed his shopping cart around Kmart. "Ford every stream." He ran his fingers over the polyester shirts on the rack in front of him. "Follow every rainbow." He plucked a promising-looking black shirt off the rack and held it up to his chest. "Till you find your dream."
He grimaced and put the shirt back. Not exactly a stellar addition to his dream wardrobe. Someone behind him giggled and Lance realized a little too late that he'd been singing louder than he'd thought. He flushed and quickly turned the corner into the next aisle.
He found himself confronting shelves full of cookware. Pots and pans and spatulas as far as the eye could see. Before he could recover, his phone started playing Every Breath You Take.
"Kmart is weird, C," he said in lieu of hello.
"Is that where you are? I thought we were gonna meet at the park. I brought bread for the ducks, man."
"What time is it?" Lance looked at his watch, puzzled. "It's only 2 o'clock, JC. We're supposed to meet at three."
"No, we're supposed to meet at two," JC said. "Didn't you get my note?" JC sounded a little more pissy than the situation warranted, Lance thought.
"What note?"
"The one I left on the kitchen counter before I went out this morning." The "you moron" went unspoken, but not actually unheard.
"There was no note on the counter, JC. And your definition of morning needs a little work. I hardly think 12:30 in the afternoon qualifies as morning." Lance heard himself speaking, heard his tone, and grimaced.
There was silence on the other end of the phone. Hurt silence, and didn't that just make Lance's day. "JC…"
"No, you know what, Lance? Nevermind. I'll see you at home."
"C…." He was gone. Lance thumbed his phone off. Dammit. He sighed. Things had been this way all month. Lance couldn’t figure out what was going on. Every time he turned around, he and JC were getting their signals crossed. Missed lunches, lost messages, neighbors and old friends of JC's showing up unannounced. Then there was that one really weird guy with the curly blond hair and the shifty blue eyes that kept turning up on the front porch, asking for JC.
Lance had no idea what his deal was. JC was kind but firm every time he showed up, asking him to leave.
Old Mrs. Hawthorne from down the street had shown up Tuesday night with an apple pie, and wasn't that just completely awkward, since Lance and JC had been in the middle of having sex at the time.
"Shit!" Lance squawked, struggling to wriggle out from under JC. That had been easier said than done, since JC had him pinned firmly over the back of the couch, where he'd been fucking him nice and slow. JC's grandma's couch. Where she and Mrs. Hawthorne had probably whiled away the afternoons having gossip and coffee. And now Lance was going to die of embarrassment right there on the back of it.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, my dears," Mrs. Hawthorne fluted at them. Lance and JC just stared at her in horror from behind the couch. "I thought Lance said to come over at 8 o'clock when I talked to him on the phone earlier today." She smiled at them and set the pie down on the end table. She was close enough that Lance could see the twinkle in her eyes. "I'll just leave this here, then, shall I?"
"I swear, JC, I never spoke to her on the phone! I don't know what she was talking about," Lance protested, when JC glared at him accusingly as he pulled his pants back up. The sound of the front door closing echoed in Lance's ears.
Lance had no idea how any of that had happened, but when he saw Mrs. Hawthorne the next day at Marsh's Market, he abandoned his cart and ducked out of the store.
And then the pizza they ordered last night had shown up an hour late with pineapple and jalapeños on it. Now, Lance loved pineapple and jalapeños on his pizza, but JC didn't, so Lance saved those toppings for special occasions, like his birthday, or when Prada's new Mens Line came out.
He'd sworn to JC that he didn't order it that way, but he didn't think JC believed him. There had been remarks made about Lance having too much time on his hands if all he could think to do was play mean tricks on JC, who was trying to get his head together enough to write catchy pop tunes, and maybe Lance should think about making himself useful and finding a part time job.
"Doing what, JC? Working at McDonald's? At Kmart?" Lance fumed. "Besides, I've got plenty of things to do around the house, since you spend your days holed up in the spare bedroom with your keyboard and leave everything else to me."
That really wasn't fair, since that was the whole reason they'd moved here in the first place. JC was supposed to be working on songs for the next American Idol's - or the last one, Lance wasn't really sure - CD, and he'd been too distracted in LA to get much accomplished. When his grandma's lawyer called and said the house was his, it had seemed like a good opportunity to get away and do some serious song writing.
Lance was bored out of his skull here, but he was trying not to complain, since the sooner the songs got written, the sooner they could get back to LA and Lance's real life.
And now JC was at the park, presumably feeding the damn ducks, while Lance was standing in Kmart, contemplating his silent cell phone.
*
Justin watched JC slip his phone back in his pocket, a look of irritation on his face. JC was carrying a half of a loaf of bread in one hand, a bottle of water in the other. He had on aviator sunglasses, faded jeans that hung low on his hips, and a tight, pale purple t-shirt.
He was gorgeous.
Justin straightened his shoulders and smiled his most charming smile. It was time to make his move.
His feet carried him down the path to the lake, where JC was engaged in disconsolately firing small pieces of bread at the ducks who were gathered at his feet, quacking their heads off.
*
There wasn't exactly a thriving club scene in Gas City, Lance had discovered. There was barely a bar scene. A few places the locals referred to as "taverns" was pretty much it, really. And they seemed to be the most busy around 5 o'clock in the afternoon.
But, hey, beggars couldn't be choosers, or so Lance's big sister had always told him when she ate the last cookie. So at 5 o'clock on Friday afternoon, he found himself sitting in a booth in a dim little place called Harrison's, waiting for JC.
He had almost been late, because he'd gotten lost. Again. Lance would have thought that a grid system where the streets that ran North to South were lettered and the ones that ran East to West were numbered would be simple to figure out. But, no. He got lost at least once a week, trying to figure out where the fuck addresses like East North C Street were.
The bar ran the length of the place, along the left side of the room, with scarred wooden booths along the right. There were maybe ten people scattered around the place, most of them sitting at the bar nursing their drinks. They'd given Lance the stink-eye when he entered, and he'd moved self-consciously to a booth about halfway down the wall. That way he could keep an eye on both the door and rest of the place.
The waitress brought him a beer, a Miller Lite of all things, after she grinned incredulously and snapped her gum at him when he ordered a Cosmopolitan. He'd heard a few snickers coming from the bar when she went over to place his order.
Lance felt ridiculously out of place in his Dolce & Gabana jeans and his maroon Armani shirt. He was beginning to feel a little nervous about some of the looks being thrown in his direction from the other patrons. He sang nervously under his breath.
"I'm just a gal that can't say no, I'm in a terrible fix. I always say, come on, let's go, just when I oughta say nix."
Where the hell was JC?
*
JC looked at his watch for about the hundredth time. Where in the hell was Lance? His voicemail had said to meet him at 5 o'clock at Margaritaville for an early dinner, and it was almost six now.
JC pulled out his phone and listened to the message again, just to be sure. Lance must be coming down with a cold. His voice sounded kind of…nasal.
Hey, C. Wanna meet me for dinner? How about Margaritaville at five? Love ya, man. See you then.
Right.
JC savagely dipped a chip in the small bowl of salsa sitting in the middle of the table. He was getting damned tired of Lance never being able to keep anything straight anymore. JC knew Lance really didn't want to be in Indiana, but he thought Lance had at least been trying, for JC's sake. Because he loved JC. But every time JC turned around, Lance was forgetting a date, or screwing up the time, or ordering jalapenos on JC's pizza.
JC was getting sick of it.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath as the chip broke off in the salsa. Fishing it out, he stuffed it in his mouth, licked the excess salsa off his fingers, and stood up quickly enough that his chair almost tipped over. He threw a twenty on the table and stormed out.
It was time to do something about this.
JC didn't see Justin leaning against his grandma's car until he was only a few feet away. He stopped and sighed.
"Justin."
"Hi, JC." Justin's smile was bright. "How are you, man?"
"I'm not having the best day, to tell you the truth. What do you want?" JC spoke sharply, but Justin just kept smiling. He didn't seem to get it. JC had told him several times since he'd arrived back in Gas City that he wasn't interested in rekindling their high school romance.
"I thought maybe we could get a drink, or something," Justin said, hopefully. JC shook his head. He wasn't sure how to interpret the look in Justin's eyes. It was kind of a gleam, really.
JC thought maybe it looked a little fanatical.
"I'm meeting Lance for dinner," JC said, edging around the front of the car, trying to get to the driver's side.
Now it was Justin's turn to shake his head. "I don't think so, JC. Lance is at a tavern, drowning his sorrows in cheap beer." He smiled again. JC took a step back. "It's just you and me tonight."
*
Lance was lost again, and it was totally pissing him off. The little muscle in his jaw twitched in irritation. Did he want E Street or Second Street? He sat at the intersection and looked around, perplexed. Sighing, he mentally flipped a coin and turned left.
As Lance cruised down the street, trying to figure out how to get home, he saw JC's grandma's car in the parking lot of Margaritaville. Two men stood next to it, arguing. JC.
Lance swung his car into the lot, leaving the driver behind him to honk his horn and flip him off as he zoomed by.
Lance got out of the car, adrenaline pumping. There was the tall skinny guy with the ski-slope nose and the neck scruff. Justin Timberwood, or something. He had his hands out, pleading, and JC was backing away from him.
"Hey!" Lance yelled. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Justin said, his creepy smile never fading as he turned and looked at Lance. "Go away. This has nothing to do with you."
"Justin," JC said angrily. "Lance is my husband."
"Don't say that!" Justin yelled. He looked between JC and Lance and shook his head. "Don't say that," he whispered.
"Dude," Lance said, approaching Justin slowly. "I know, JC's awesome, he said reasonably. "But you need to give it up." He tried to keep his voice even, but it was hard. "He's mine."
"But he was mine first," Justin said unsteadily. "Don't you remember, JC?" He reached out a hand, and his face crumpled.
"That was a long time ago, Justin," Jc said softly. "Please, let it go, man." He put his hand on Justin's shoulder and pulled him into a brief hug. Lance bristled. "I love Lance, now."
Justin dipped his head down, resting it on JC's shoulder for a moment. He nodded and turned his head, casting a glare at Lance. "You really love him more than me?"
"Just differently, man. At the end of the day, like I said, it's been a long time." JC gently pushed Justin away. "Go home, Justin."
Justin nodded. "Okay." He took a step or two backwards. "I will." His face was tragic and tear-streaked. Lance rolled his eyes.
Justin turned dramatically and stalked away across the parking lot, yanking open the door of a powder blue Gremlin and sliding in. He peeled out of the lot in a hail of gravel.
"It's a good thing he's gone, JC," Lance said fiercely, balling his hands into tight fists. "Otherwise, I'd have had to seriously kick his ass."
"My hero," JC smiled, and kissed him.
*
Lance waved from his vantage point on the front porch as Mrs. Hawthorne drove past their house and pulled into her driveway.
"I invited her for dinner tomorrow night," he said, idly running his hand down JC's arm and clasping his wrist possessively. He pushed with his feet and the glider they were cuddled together on moved gently back and forth.
JC looked at him and smiled. "That's nice, Lance." He sighed and watched a couple of boys ride by the house on their bikes. "It's not such a bad little town, is it?
Lance listened to the birds chirping merrily away in the nearby trees, felt the soft summer breeze on his face. He closed his eyes and lied through his teeth. "Nope. Not at all, now that your crazy ex decided to go to Hollywood and make his fortune in show business." He snorted. "He ought to fit right in." He smiled and started singing quietly.
"I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair, I'm gonna wash that man right outta my, I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair…"
JC joined him for the last line. "And send him on his way!"
Fandom: Popslash
Pairing: JC/Lance
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: stalking, sort of
Prompt: 34) Hush
Summary: Lance is less than thrilled when his hubby, JC, suggests they move back to his boring picturesque hometown. Little does he know JC’s crazy former boyfriend, Justin, has an unhealthy obsession with JC. This infatuated ex will stop at nothing to get JC back - including impersonating Lance!
AN: I think the summary says it all, don't you? Written for the Lifetime Movie challenge, stori_telling. Thanks, Ash.
Gas City, Indiana. What a wonderful name. Named for Albert Gary, of judiciary fame -
Lance shook his head and mentally slapped himself on the forehead at the same time. Wrong city, not that Gas City could really be called a city, per se, in spite of its hopeful name. It certainly didn't have a song written about it, Lance knew that much.
He looked curiously out the car window as they drove into town. Couple of grocery stores, a run-down looking Kmart, a McDonalds, a few banks and gas stations, City Hall and the Gas City Library, a Mexican restaurant, a high school, and then, oops, they were shooting right out the other side of town.
Lance craned his neck around to stare at the Mississinawa High School sign receding in the distance behind them. "That’s it? That’s the whole place?" he asked in disbelief, uneasiness settling in his stomach. This was worse than he thought.
"No, that wasn’t the whole place," JC snapped. There was a defensive edge to his voice, for which Lance certainly didn’t blame him one little bit. He’d be defensive too, if he’d dragged his husband away from his very pleasant life in LA to live in this backwater -
JC’s voice interrupted his thoughts, which Lance had to concede was probably just as well. He was trying to be open-minded about this whole moving thing, so he pasted a cheerful smile on his face and tuned into whatever JC was saying.
" - and besides the park, Fairmount is just down the road. That’s where James Dean is buried, and they have a James Dean Festival every year, man, and it's awesome -"
Lance knew all about James Dean Days. It was pretty much the only claim to fame they had around here and JC had only mentioned it about a million times while he was trying to convince Lance that of all the fabulous places in the world to live, Gas City, Indiana was the place they should pick.
Lance eventually was persuaded, but only because JC's skill at giving head was much more convincing than his enthusiasm for small town festivals and long-dead movie stars.
Although Lance had to admit that James Dean had been kind of hot.
Moving back to JC's hometown was just supposed to be temporary. It was supposed to give JC a chance to get his shit together as a song-writer, and it was also, Lance suspected, supposed to get Lance away from the temptation of Rodeo Drive. Lance didn't figure the shopping in Gas City was much to write home about. Or write to anybody about, really.
JC had circled around back towards town and now he turned onto a small road off Main Street. "D" Street? What, they couldn't even think of any street names in this place? They couldn't get past one letter?
Halfway down the block, JC pulled the car into the driveway of a small one-story ranch house. "Here it is," he said excitedly. "This was my grandma's house!"
Lance sat, stunned at the feeling of betrayal as he stared at the small light-colored brick house with the aluminum siding and tiny front porch sitting dolefully in front of him. This was their new house? He was supposed to live here? He left their home in the Hollywood Hills, with the pool and the view and the famous neighbors to live in this…place?
There were lawn ornaments! A man in overalls and a woman in a polka-dot dress, cut out of what looked like plywood, were bent over as if they were weeding a garden. There was a ceramic goose wearing a bathing suit and sunglasses at the end of the sidewalk. A wooden wishing well graced the front lawn.
Wow, no wonder JC's parents had moved to Chicago. No wonder JC's mom had snickered over the phone when Lance and JC had called to tell them about their plans.
"Well, what do you think?" JC asked hopefully, turning to Lance with a tentative smile on his face.
Lance gave him a wan smile back and said, "It looks…cozy." He was rewarded with JC's eye-crinkle, and that almost cancelled out the evil goose. Stepping out of the car onto the cracked cement driveway, Lance added, "Let's see the inside," with what he hoped was appropriate enthusiasm.
Lance must have done a good job of faking it, because they'd barely gotten in the front door when JC tackled him into a kiss, pushing him back against the wall and saying against his lips, "I can't wait to christen every room, man. You're gonna look so pretty spread out across my grandma's bed."
Lance froze mid-tongue thrust. Okay, that was just creepy. He pulled back and stared at JC.
"What, dude?" JC's lips were shiny with spit, looking soft and inviting, and Lance almost got distracted from how completely inappropriate the idea of fucking on JC's grandma's furniture was. He shook his head.
"Nothing. Show me the kitchen. I guess we need to go to the grocery store, right?"
*
Across the street, a tallish man with broad shoulders, ripped abs, and skinny legs watched the new arrivals with narrowed eyes. He scratched at his neck scruff irritably and frowned. There was no way JC preferred that blond twink to himself.
The man straightened his shoulders. Ha. No way. This was gonna be easy. In no time at all, JC would be his again.
*
"When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last dying day," Lance sang as he loaded the dishwasher. He had to admit JC's grandma had spared no expense when it came time to buy appliances. It made him think fondly of the old lady he'd never met when he made coffee in the morning in their shiny Keurig brewer, or boiled water for macaroni and cheese on their Delonghi range.
"Little boy you're a man, little man, you're a king," he rumbled as he grape-vined across the small kitchen floor, snapping his fingers. He stopped short when he saw JC in the doorway, watching him with a besotted smile on his face.
Lance grinned and flushed with embarrassment at being caught. "What are you doing here? I thought you were seeing the lawyer?"
JC frowned. "There's a problem with the deed to the house. They can't transfer it to us."
"Why not?" Lance asked.
"Because they can't find Grandma's will." JC came further into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee maker.
"What do you mean, they can't find it?" Lance cocked his head curiously at JC. That didn't seem right.
JC sighed and peered into the empty coffee carafe. "I mean, they have no record, either on paper or electronic, that Grandma ever willed me this house."
The first thought that flashed through Lance's mind at these words was thank goodness. Now can we please go back to LA? That made him feel annoyingly guilty. JC really wanted to be here. Lance cleared his throat. "What the heck, JC?"
"I don't know, Lance. Grandma's lawyer knows it's what she wanted, he's read the will, he just can't find the actual paperwork. He says it'll be fine." He waved the empty coffee carafe at Lance, his eyes reproachful. "Dude."
"Sorry," Lance said. "I didn't realize I'd finished it." He tucked his fingers in the waistband of JC's jeans and tugged him forward into a kiss. "Let me make it up to you?" he breathed.
"What, do you have some more nice, hot coffee hidden around here somewhere?" JC smiled down at him.
Lance hummed, spurred on by the challenge implicit in JC's words. "I think we can do better than some ol' coffee," he said with a leer.
JC laughed happily and pushed him to his knees.
*
Justin Timberlake drew back from the kitchen window he'd been peering into. A frown marred his beautiful face. At least, he assumed a frown would mar it. Maybe a frown would make him look more handsome. Fierce and compelling, maybe. Something JC would respond to. Justin's frown deepened as he thought about it. JC couldn't call him a little boy anymore if he looked tough and grownup.
He quickly turned back to the window to check out his reflection in the glass. Hmm, not bad. He looked intense, kind of interesting. His nose still stuck out funny on the end, though, and…oh, god. He looked past his reflection into the kitchen and saw that the blond twink was on his knees, his hands tugging at JC's belt buckle.
There was no way Justin could watch this. No way was he going to stand here and watch JC's eyes close in bliss as his husband - Justin almost hissed at the word - sucked him off. No way.
He would leave now. He'd heard them talking about the missing will, and while he had hoped JC would be more upset about that than he seemed to be, Justin had also seen the hopeful look in the twink's eye when they'd been discussing it. So, Blondie didn't want to stay here in town. Justin could work with that.
Just as soon as he got out of here. He was leaving right now. Really. He was not watching this.
His eyes glued to the way JC's tongue came out to swipe across his plush mouth, at the way his teeth bit down on his bottom lip, Justin stumbled just a little on the green painted frog cunningly stuck in the flowerbed under the window.
Shit.
Moving more carefully, he edged his way around the side of the house and casually sauntered across the lawn to the street, back the way he'd come. He had more plans to finalize.
*
"Climb every mountain," Lance hummed under his breath as he pushed his shopping cart around Kmart. "Ford every stream." He ran his fingers over the polyester shirts on the rack in front of him. "Follow every rainbow." He plucked a promising-looking black shirt off the rack and held it up to his chest. "Till you find your dream."
He grimaced and put the shirt back. Not exactly a stellar addition to his dream wardrobe. Someone behind him giggled and Lance realized a little too late that he'd been singing louder than he'd thought. He flushed and quickly turned the corner into the next aisle.
He found himself confronting shelves full of cookware. Pots and pans and spatulas as far as the eye could see. Before he could recover, his phone started playing Every Breath You Take.
"Kmart is weird, C," he said in lieu of hello.
"Is that where you are? I thought we were gonna meet at the park. I brought bread for the ducks, man."
"What time is it?" Lance looked at his watch, puzzled. "It's only 2 o'clock, JC. We're supposed to meet at three."
"No, we're supposed to meet at two," JC said. "Didn't you get my note?" JC sounded a little more pissy than the situation warranted, Lance thought.
"What note?"
"The one I left on the kitchen counter before I went out this morning." The "you moron" went unspoken, but not actually unheard.
"There was no note on the counter, JC. And your definition of morning needs a little work. I hardly think 12:30 in the afternoon qualifies as morning." Lance heard himself speaking, heard his tone, and grimaced.
There was silence on the other end of the phone. Hurt silence, and didn't that just make Lance's day. "JC…"
"No, you know what, Lance? Nevermind. I'll see you at home."
"C…." He was gone. Lance thumbed his phone off. Dammit. He sighed. Things had been this way all month. Lance couldn’t figure out what was going on. Every time he turned around, he and JC were getting their signals crossed. Missed lunches, lost messages, neighbors and old friends of JC's showing up unannounced. Then there was that one really weird guy with the curly blond hair and the shifty blue eyes that kept turning up on the front porch, asking for JC.
Lance had no idea what his deal was. JC was kind but firm every time he showed up, asking him to leave.
Old Mrs. Hawthorne from down the street had shown up Tuesday night with an apple pie, and wasn't that just completely awkward, since Lance and JC had been in the middle of having sex at the time.
"Shit!" Lance squawked, struggling to wriggle out from under JC. That had been easier said than done, since JC had him pinned firmly over the back of the couch, where he'd been fucking him nice and slow. JC's grandma's couch. Where she and Mrs. Hawthorne had probably whiled away the afternoons having gossip and coffee. And now Lance was going to die of embarrassment right there on the back of it.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, my dears," Mrs. Hawthorne fluted at them. Lance and JC just stared at her in horror from behind the couch. "I thought Lance said to come over at 8 o'clock when I talked to him on the phone earlier today." She smiled at them and set the pie down on the end table. She was close enough that Lance could see the twinkle in her eyes. "I'll just leave this here, then, shall I?"
"I swear, JC, I never spoke to her on the phone! I don't know what she was talking about," Lance protested, when JC glared at him accusingly as he pulled his pants back up. The sound of the front door closing echoed in Lance's ears.
Lance had no idea how any of that had happened, but when he saw Mrs. Hawthorne the next day at Marsh's Market, he abandoned his cart and ducked out of the store.
And then the pizza they ordered last night had shown up an hour late with pineapple and jalapeños on it. Now, Lance loved pineapple and jalapeños on his pizza, but JC didn't, so Lance saved those toppings for special occasions, like his birthday, or when Prada's new Mens Line came out.
He'd sworn to JC that he didn't order it that way, but he didn't think JC believed him. There had been remarks made about Lance having too much time on his hands if all he could think to do was play mean tricks on JC, who was trying to get his head together enough to write catchy pop tunes, and maybe Lance should think about making himself useful and finding a part time job.
"Doing what, JC? Working at McDonald's? At Kmart?" Lance fumed. "Besides, I've got plenty of things to do around the house, since you spend your days holed up in the spare bedroom with your keyboard and leave everything else to me."
That really wasn't fair, since that was the whole reason they'd moved here in the first place. JC was supposed to be working on songs for the next American Idol's - or the last one, Lance wasn't really sure - CD, and he'd been too distracted in LA to get much accomplished. When his grandma's lawyer called and said the house was his, it had seemed like a good opportunity to get away and do some serious song writing.
Lance was bored out of his skull here, but he was trying not to complain, since the sooner the songs got written, the sooner they could get back to LA and Lance's real life.
And now JC was at the park, presumably feeding the damn ducks, while Lance was standing in Kmart, contemplating his silent cell phone.
*
Justin watched JC slip his phone back in his pocket, a look of irritation on his face. JC was carrying a half of a loaf of bread in one hand, a bottle of water in the other. He had on aviator sunglasses, faded jeans that hung low on his hips, and a tight, pale purple t-shirt.
He was gorgeous.
Justin straightened his shoulders and smiled his most charming smile. It was time to make his move.
His feet carried him down the path to the lake, where JC was engaged in disconsolately firing small pieces of bread at the ducks who were gathered at his feet, quacking their heads off.
*
There wasn't exactly a thriving club scene in Gas City, Lance had discovered. There was barely a bar scene. A few places the locals referred to as "taverns" was pretty much it, really. And they seemed to be the most busy around 5 o'clock in the afternoon.
But, hey, beggars couldn't be choosers, or so Lance's big sister had always told him when she ate the last cookie. So at 5 o'clock on Friday afternoon, he found himself sitting in a booth in a dim little place called Harrison's, waiting for JC.
He had almost been late, because he'd gotten lost. Again. Lance would have thought that a grid system where the streets that ran North to South were lettered and the ones that ran East to West were numbered would be simple to figure out. But, no. He got lost at least once a week, trying to figure out where the fuck addresses like East North C Street were.
The bar ran the length of the place, along the left side of the room, with scarred wooden booths along the right. There were maybe ten people scattered around the place, most of them sitting at the bar nursing their drinks. They'd given Lance the stink-eye when he entered, and he'd moved self-consciously to a booth about halfway down the wall. That way he could keep an eye on both the door and rest of the place.
The waitress brought him a beer, a Miller Lite of all things, after she grinned incredulously and snapped her gum at him when he ordered a Cosmopolitan. He'd heard a few snickers coming from the bar when she went over to place his order.
Lance felt ridiculously out of place in his Dolce & Gabana jeans and his maroon Armani shirt. He was beginning to feel a little nervous about some of the looks being thrown in his direction from the other patrons. He sang nervously under his breath.
"I'm just a gal that can't say no, I'm in a terrible fix. I always say, come on, let's go, just when I oughta say nix."
Where the hell was JC?
*
JC looked at his watch for about the hundredth time. Where in the hell was Lance? His voicemail had said to meet him at 5 o'clock at Margaritaville for an early dinner, and it was almost six now.
JC pulled out his phone and listened to the message again, just to be sure. Lance must be coming down with a cold. His voice sounded kind of…nasal.
Hey, C. Wanna meet me for dinner? How about Margaritaville at five? Love ya, man. See you then.
Right.
JC savagely dipped a chip in the small bowl of salsa sitting in the middle of the table. He was getting damned tired of Lance never being able to keep anything straight anymore. JC knew Lance really didn't want to be in Indiana, but he thought Lance had at least been trying, for JC's sake. Because he loved JC. But every time JC turned around, Lance was forgetting a date, or screwing up the time, or ordering jalapenos on JC's pizza.
JC was getting sick of it.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath as the chip broke off in the salsa. Fishing it out, he stuffed it in his mouth, licked the excess salsa off his fingers, and stood up quickly enough that his chair almost tipped over. He threw a twenty on the table and stormed out.
It was time to do something about this.
JC didn't see Justin leaning against his grandma's car until he was only a few feet away. He stopped and sighed.
"Justin."
"Hi, JC." Justin's smile was bright. "How are you, man?"
"I'm not having the best day, to tell you the truth. What do you want?" JC spoke sharply, but Justin just kept smiling. He didn't seem to get it. JC had told him several times since he'd arrived back in Gas City that he wasn't interested in rekindling their high school romance.
"I thought maybe we could get a drink, or something," Justin said, hopefully. JC shook his head. He wasn't sure how to interpret the look in Justin's eyes. It was kind of a gleam, really.
JC thought maybe it looked a little fanatical.
"I'm meeting Lance for dinner," JC said, edging around the front of the car, trying to get to the driver's side.
Now it was Justin's turn to shake his head. "I don't think so, JC. Lance is at a tavern, drowning his sorrows in cheap beer." He smiled again. JC took a step back. "It's just you and me tonight."
*
Lance was lost again, and it was totally pissing him off. The little muscle in his jaw twitched in irritation. Did he want E Street or Second Street? He sat at the intersection and looked around, perplexed. Sighing, he mentally flipped a coin and turned left.
As Lance cruised down the street, trying to figure out how to get home, he saw JC's grandma's car in the parking lot of Margaritaville. Two men stood next to it, arguing. JC.
Lance swung his car into the lot, leaving the driver behind him to honk his horn and flip him off as he zoomed by.
Lance got out of the car, adrenaline pumping. There was the tall skinny guy with the ski-slope nose and the neck scruff. Justin Timberwood, or something. He had his hands out, pleading, and JC was backing away from him.
"Hey!" Lance yelled. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Justin said, his creepy smile never fading as he turned and looked at Lance. "Go away. This has nothing to do with you."
"Justin," JC said angrily. "Lance is my husband."
"Don't say that!" Justin yelled. He looked between JC and Lance and shook his head. "Don't say that," he whispered.
"Dude," Lance said, approaching Justin slowly. "I know, JC's awesome, he said reasonably. "But you need to give it up." He tried to keep his voice even, but it was hard. "He's mine."
"But he was mine first," Justin said unsteadily. "Don't you remember, JC?" He reached out a hand, and his face crumpled.
"That was a long time ago, Justin," Jc said softly. "Please, let it go, man." He put his hand on Justin's shoulder and pulled him into a brief hug. Lance bristled. "I love Lance, now."
Justin dipped his head down, resting it on JC's shoulder for a moment. He nodded and turned his head, casting a glare at Lance. "You really love him more than me?"
"Just differently, man. At the end of the day, like I said, it's been a long time." JC gently pushed Justin away. "Go home, Justin."
Justin nodded. "Okay." He took a step or two backwards. "I will." His face was tragic and tear-streaked. Lance rolled his eyes.
Justin turned dramatically and stalked away across the parking lot, yanking open the door of a powder blue Gremlin and sliding in. He peeled out of the lot in a hail of gravel.
"It's a good thing he's gone, JC," Lance said fiercely, balling his hands into tight fists. "Otherwise, I'd have had to seriously kick his ass."
"My hero," JC smiled, and kissed him.
*
Lance waved from his vantage point on the front porch as Mrs. Hawthorne drove past their house and pulled into her driveway.
"I invited her for dinner tomorrow night," he said, idly running his hand down JC's arm and clasping his wrist possessively. He pushed with his feet and the glider they were cuddled together on moved gently back and forth.
JC looked at him and smiled. "That's nice, Lance." He sighed and watched a couple of boys ride by the house on their bikes. "It's not such a bad little town, is it?
Lance listened to the birds chirping merrily away in the nearby trees, felt the soft summer breeze on his face. He closed his eyes and lied through his teeth. "Nope. Not at all, now that your crazy ex decided to go to Hollywood and make his fortune in show business." He snorted. "He ought to fit right in." He smiled and started singing quietly.
"I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair, I'm gonna wash that man right outta my, I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair…"
JC joined him for the last line. "And send him on his way!"