Love is Strange (PG, Joey/Lance)
One down. I feel accomplished, baby. Even if it's a second-rate piece of fic, but I've just slugged away at it every night for the past week, and I've never had the discipline to do that before. I don't think it makes much of a difference in the quality of the writing, but at least I managed to beat a deadline for once.
The story itself? Melodrama and cliches and run-on sentences, oh my!
LOVE IS STRANGE (18/3/03)
Joey remembers the feel of Lance's skin under him from the very beginning. Starting as a way to include Lance - a light punch on skinny arms where Chris would have just laughed unkindly, one-armed hugs on the move as if to squeeze comfort into a bad situation - Joey didn't think too much on it then. They were busy, there were more urgent things at hand: practices, warm-ups, cheap shows and Lou's wrinkle-faced squints, tight smile. Joey has the memories, even some footage, to think back on though.
But the sharpest image, it's not a picture at all, but sensory - his hands blindly reaching out to smooth down the tension of Lance's scrunched up frown, right before a showcase of some industry types. Under the layers of hurriedly applied make-up, thick and powder caking the roughened pads of his fingers, he could feel youth blemished skin, pale and clammy. Lance sighing into his touch.
After he sleeps with Lance for the first time, Joey thinks about deliberate motive, the early days. Lying in a warm bed, sheet thrown over their naked bodies, he rests a hand, flexed flat, in the dip of Lance's back - here, now, pale silk against him and his to have. Joey finds himself rolling over on to his side then, away, keeping his hands fisted in the material by his body. Fighting sleep over the steady quiet snores beside him.
****
There are a lot of reasons why they've never talked about their relationship, about being exclusive. Lance would say it was because it didn't seem right, wasn't something done between friends; but he would admit, in a weak moment of honesty perhaps, that the main reason was because Joey didn't want it defined.
Leaning his head against the locked door of their hotel room one night, the dirty giggle of some girl inside in response to Joey's low murmur, Lance isn't sure if what he's feeling is hurt so much as regret. He keeps his forehead to the cool painted wood, not really hearing the sounds from inside anymore, and feels blindly for the key in his left pocket. Joey had slipped it in there earlier on, while they were getting dressed for a night out hitting the clubs in the area; snaking one arm around the bare skin of Lance's waist, dropping kisses along the line of his neck while sliding his other hand into the pocket of Lance's khakis. Lance had laughed then, squirming from the tickling sensations, pulling away to tug his top down. He'd asked jokingly as he moved away, "What, you mean to get separated from me tonight?"
Chris and JC are still out there, hopefully having fun; Lance had left early, missing Joey because they'd lost him between one dark room to the next, or even between clubs, Lance can't remember now. He can feel the cold weight of the key through his fingers, but he doesn't draw it out. For a moment, a very short moment, he considers slumping down on the spot by their doorway, so when Joey opens the door to usher out his latest conquest he'll see the ugly mottled green hotel carpet then the hurt in Lance's eyes.
Lance walks the short distance to Justin's room instead. There's a crack of light under Justin's door, even though it's the early hours of the morning now, and Justin answers within the first two knocks. "Hey," Justin starts to say, then catches the look on Lance's face, and opens the door wider to let him in. Lance forces a small smile to his face as he walks past, as much to reassure Justin as himself. He flops onto the neatly made bed, ruffled only by a dent the length of Justin's body. There's a fair few sheets of paper, a notebook, that threatens to go flying as Lance lies there, staring up at the ceiling. Justin stands by the corner closest to Lance and waits with his arms crossed in unusual silence, only broken by the tapping of his foot to some rhythm in his head. It works.
"Joey's back in our room, and he's locked the door."
"Don't you have a key?"
"Yeah, but...I can't go in. He's got someone in there."
Justin doesn't push any further, just bends down and shoves Lance over gently, palm in his side, making room for himself. He lies down gingerly to avoid the odd pen, and says in a calm voice, "You can stay here tonight, if you like." Lance feels a rush of affection for the younger man in that moment, gratitude he doesn't know how to express; he's not sure how much Justin knows about the situation between Joey and him. But right now that doesn't seem to matter to either of them, and Justin hands over an old pair of tracksuit pants, an oversized T-shirt Lance is sure originally belonged to Joey. He puts them on in the bathroom, coming out to find Justin already in bed. He slides next to Justin under the covers, trying very hard to not touch in the narrow space. "Goodnight," he hears, quiet in his ear, and then it's lights out with a click. Lance falls asleep surprisingly soon after that.
He wakes up the next morning with Justin curled into his side, still asleep, one arm warm across his body. Joey is sitting on the bed with a hand on Lance's head, watching them both with tired eyes.
"Hey," Joey whispers, then stops short, doesn't go on. Lance can see he's afraid.
"It's alright," he's moved to say, and in some way he believes it is, he'll believe it for Joey. "It's alright - "
"They don't mean anything," Joey interrupts with finality. His fingers are still stroking steadily through Lance's hair. Lance drifts back to sleep, feeling that somehow they have both said the worst thing they could have.
****
Another rumbling journey in the night from city to city, and all but shut in since the rain started. It's sleeting so heavily so all they can see out the windows is white, and oncoming glows of foglights. There's a steady line of them ahead and behind too, a reminder of enormity of the tour they've undertaken, truck after truck. But being closed in, stuffy recycled air over and over for hours, Lance gets cabin fever. He paces from one end of their tiny open area in front of the TV, darting from one another mind-numbing show to another to another channel, never stopping for more than three seconds. Joey feels too lethargic to do anything about it, is lulled into a nap instead by the clattering noise of water on the roof, bursts of raucous laughter from the still blaring shows, and the occasional horn to warn other traffic of their lumbering movement.
He wakes to the sound of Lance acting like a diva, demanding that their driver stop. Lance is one stubborn motherfucker. Joey pities their driver, even moves to try and reign Lance in when he realises the poor man is trying to drive in awful conditions and Lance's ranting is a distraction he doesn't deserve. Then suddenly, the man's scowl deepens and he leans forward, hits a button on the oversized dash, and the door opens with an outward jerk, flinging rain outwards right before it returns with the force of the wind outside. Lance darts forward as soon as the bus comes to a stop, still in his thin bus clothes of worn comfort and nothing else. Joey doesn't stop to think, runs out after him immediately. He's dimly aware of the doors closing behind him, but his eyes stay on Lance, now standing by the side of the road with his face raised to the sky, shivering and eyes squinted. The rain in painful, hurtling downwards to wash into warm puddles.
Reaching out to Lance, Joey tells him, "Let's go back inside, please, Lance c'mon, please." A line of vehicles pass them, including the bus with the other guys, but no one would be able to see them, two wet miserable figures, through the rain haze. "A little longer, just a bit longer," Lance begs, lips turning blue. Joey grabs him in the slippery rain, holds him close, not wanting to force him back to the bus but thinking he might need to. Lance collapses limp against Joey, winds his arms around Joey's middle and leans on him until Joey stumbles back up against the bus' side. It becomes warmer after a while, summer rain and the little heat lingering between them. Joey rests his head against the top of Lance's, rain slick jacket their only cover, breathing shallowly, closing his eyes to everything else.
The doors open with a hiss when the rain begins to ease. They untangle themselves from each other and climb back in without a word.
****
He's away from the guys when he finds out, Kelly flying out to meet him with her news. It's been a few months, and again he's forgotten how attractive she is. She looks stressed, walking through the concourse of the airport, and Joey still wants to run his hands along the curve of her side, remembers what she looks like naked. He grins as she finally spots him, a big smile that falters, watching her run a few steps forward then stop to force herself to walk slowly to him. It's a deliberate walk. She doesn't look him in the eye when she tells him what she came all the way to say in person.
They spend the entire afternoon holed up in his hotel room, and Joey feels guilty when he doesn't take Lance's call when it comes, the sixth hour after Kelly's arrival. He has his arms around her, they're sitting on the bed, her knees tucked and touching his. She starts crying again. Six hours, and Joey remembers vaguely that she's here for the another two days, that he has a seven o'clock wake-up call tomorrow for a short scene. He holds her tighter, her sobs softer when muffled against the bright red T-shirt Chris bought for him over the internet, and resolves to wait it out. Years of his life ahead of him. Nothing will end here because of this.
****
A few months into this arrangement, best friends and lovers, and Lance realises it's a time of changes. This film, it's an effort to branch out and try something new. One. Joey, a father in less than a month. Two. Lance tries not to worry, but then things like this happen: a rained out set, money wasted, giving the backers something else to complain about. Trapped indoors because of the downpour, and diehard fans, outside. He feels grumpy, and a sigh escapes him, a put-upon sound. Joey responds as Lance knew he would.
"What's up, baby?"
Lance winces at the casual term, then crawls to spread himself over Joey, warm on the bed. "It's cold, and I hate the rain, and I think I'm getting an ulcer. This film was a stupid idea." He thumps his head on Joey's chest once, none too softly. Joey hums in response, deep from his throat, and shifts slightly, one hand still resting on his stomach between their bodies. He doesn't say anything else, and Lance thinks he might have fallen asleep, until Joey flips him over and hovers over him. Behind Joey, there's a gap in the curtains, a sliver of grey sky, and Lance watches a streak of white before his eyes, the crack of thunder soon after.
Joey keeps silent, moves on Lance with precise movements, but slow. There's different tones, a tuneless scale as raindrops strike, a chill that blows in past the lazily flapping cloth. The blankets are on the floor around the bed, and Lance keeps his eyes open through everything, watching. Joey eases into him and bites his lip, then Lance's, kisses that nip at small folds of skin inside his mouth.
Afterwards, Lance asks out loud, dreamily, "Do you belong to me, or to her, now?" Joey is suddenly tense. Lance sighs into the silence, "That was a rhetorical question." His face resting against the slope of Joey's shoulder, he rubs Joey's back in little circles, pushing at the knots over and over.
****
The first time they kiss is the morning after they brave the rain by the side of the road. Joey won't Lance go straight to bed that night; his mom had always told him that going to bed with wet hair would give him nightmares, a headache the next morning that he wouldn't be able to shake off. He sits Lance down on the couch firmly, and rubs his hair as dry as he can with a threadbare handtowel, the only clean one on the bus, until they both fall asleep there just before dawn.
Joey wakes up with a sore neck from the low back of the sofa, wakes up to find Lance still in his lap. Lance is watching him with a curious look in his eyes, damp towel still in his hand, and Joey knows he should move now before things change beyond a night in the rain, something out of the ordinary. He stays still. Lance places his mouth on Joey's, closes his eyes, and breathes in. Joey tastes something dirt fresh under the scent of soap and shampoo. He kisses Lance back.
****
Joey has Briahna for the weekend, and Lance comes over early on Sunday morning. He takes the sleep cranky baby from Joey's arms at the door, gives him a little push on the shoulder.
"Go, go take a shower. I'll look after her and wait."
Lance whirls Briahna in the air, round and round, voice already softening as she burbles gleefully at him, and Joey shrugs and goes to enjoy a little peace after a broken night's sleep. He walks out of his ensuite, refreshed and awake, to find Lance playing peek-a-boo with Briahna on his unmade bed, using the sheets to disappear and reappear to the delight of his little girl. Joey stops to watch, leaning against the doorjamb, towel still wrapped around his waist, flecks of water cooling and rolling down his back.
Lance pops out from under a ridge of linen, back angled away Joey, and grins at Briahna, who giggles in response and reaches out with chubby fingers for her godfather. Lance picks her up, and says with an exaggerated growl of surprise, "Look what I found! My, aren't you looking gorgeous today."
Joey can't help himself then; puts on his best falsetto and drawls in reply, "Why, Mister Bass, I had no idea you felt that way about me."
Lance freezes, and then takes his time in turning towards Joey. "Baby, you don't know the half of it," he says, stroking Briahna's cheek with one hand, fingers gentle.
END
I can hear him singing / ooh love is strange / come dance with me baby / in the summer rain
For the Rain Challenge.
You can find the nice version, and the lyrics of the song, here at my site.
Las: Checkmated is a Ron/Hermione archive. All the stories have to at least have a mention of a Ron/Hermione relationship, if not focussed on it. It's got a lovely layout, and seems to run quite smoothly.
.
.
.
and in other news, I'm another year older. Fancy that.
The story itself? Melodrama and cliches and run-on sentences, oh my!
LOVE IS STRANGE (18/3/03)
Joey remembers the feel of Lance's skin under him from the very beginning. Starting as a way to include Lance - a light punch on skinny arms where Chris would have just laughed unkindly, one-armed hugs on the move as if to squeeze comfort into a bad situation - Joey didn't think too much on it then. They were busy, there were more urgent things at hand: practices, warm-ups, cheap shows and Lou's wrinkle-faced squints, tight smile. Joey has the memories, even some footage, to think back on though.
But the sharpest image, it's not a picture at all, but sensory - his hands blindly reaching out to smooth down the tension of Lance's scrunched up frown, right before a showcase of some industry types. Under the layers of hurriedly applied make-up, thick and powder caking the roughened pads of his fingers, he could feel youth blemished skin, pale and clammy. Lance sighing into his touch.
After he sleeps with Lance for the first time, Joey thinks about deliberate motive, the early days. Lying in a warm bed, sheet thrown over their naked bodies, he rests a hand, flexed flat, in the dip of Lance's back - here, now, pale silk against him and his to have. Joey finds himself rolling over on to his side then, away, keeping his hands fisted in the material by his body. Fighting sleep over the steady quiet snores beside him.
****
There are a lot of reasons why they've never talked about their relationship, about being exclusive. Lance would say it was because it didn't seem right, wasn't something done between friends; but he would admit, in a weak moment of honesty perhaps, that the main reason was because Joey didn't want it defined.
Leaning his head against the locked door of their hotel room one night, the dirty giggle of some girl inside in response to Joey's low murmur, Lance isn't sure if what he's feeling is hurt so much as regret. He keeps his forehead to the cool painted wood, not really hearing the sounds from inside anymore, and feels blindly for the key in his left pocket. Joey had slipped it in there earlier on, while they were getting dressed for a night out hitting the clubs in the area; snaking one arm around the bare skin of Lance's waist, dropping kisses along the line of his neck while sliding his other hand into the pocket of Lance's khakis. Lance had laughed then, squirming from the tickling sensations, pulling away to tug his top down. He'd asked jokingly as he moved away, "What, you mean to get separated from me tonight?"
Chris and JC are still out there, hopefully having fun; Lance had left early, missing Joey because they'd lost him between one dark room to the next, or even between clubs, Lance can't remember now. He can feel the cold weight of the key through his fingers, but he doesn't draw it out. For a moment, a very short moment, he considers slumping down on the spot by their doorway, so when Joey opens the door to usher out his latest conquest he'll see the ugly mottled green hotel carpet then the hurt in Lance's eyes.
Lance walks the short distance to Justin's room instead. There's a crack of light under Justin's door, even though it's the early hours of the morning now, and Justin answers within the first two knocks. "Hey," Justin starts to say, then catches the look on Lance's face, and opens the door wider to let him in. Lance forces a small smile to his face as he walks past, as much to reassure Justin as himself. He flops onto the neatly made bed, ruffled only by a dent the length of Justin's body. There's a fair few sheets of paper, a notebook, that threatens to go flying as Lance lies there, staring up at the ceiling. Justin stands by the corner closest to Lance and waits with his arms crossed in unusual silence, only broken by the tapping of his foot to some rhythm in his head. It works.
"Joey's back in our room, and he's locked the door."
"Don't you have a key?"
"Yeah, but...I can't go in. He's got someone in there."
Justin doesn't push any further, just bends down and shoves Lance over gently, palm in his side, making room for himself. He lies down gingerly to avoid the odd pen, and says in a calm voice, "You can stay here tonight, if you like." Lance feels a rush of affection for the younger man in that moment, gratitude he doesn't know how to express; he's not sure how much Justin knows about the situation between Joey and him. But right now that doesn't seem to matter to either of them, and Justin hands over an old pair of tracksuit pants, an oversized T-shirt Lance is sure originally belonged to Joey. He puts them on in the bathroom, coming out to find Justin already in bed. He slides next to Justin under the covers, trying very hard to not touch in the narrow space. "Goodnight," he hears, quiet in his ear, and then it's lights out with a click. Lance falls asleep surprisingly soon after that.
He wakes up the next morning with Justin curled into his side, still asleep, one arm warm across his body. Joey is sitting on the bed with a hand on Lance's head, watching them both with tired eyes.
"Hey," Joey whispers, then stops short, doesn't go on. Lance can see he's afraid.
"It's alright," he's moved to say, and in some way he believes it is, he'll believe it for Joey. "It's alright - "
"They don't mean anything," Joey interrupts with finality. His fingers are still stroking steadily through Lance's hair. Lance drifts back to sleep, feeling that somehow they have both said the worst thing they could have.
****
Another rumbling journey in the night from city to city, and all but shut in since the rain started. It's sleeting so heavily so all they can see out the windows is white, and oncoming glows of foglights. There's a steady line of them ahead and behind too, a reminder of enormity of the tour they've undertaken, truck after truck. But being closed in, stuffy recycled air over and over for hours, Lance gets cabin fever. He paces from one end of their tiny open area in front of the TV, darting from one another mind-numbing show to another to another channel, never stopping for more than three seconds. Joey feels too lethargic to do anything about it, is lulled into a nap instead by the clattering noise of water on the roof, bursts of raucous laughter from the still blaring shows, and the occasional horn to warn other traffic of their lumbering movement.
He wakes to the sound of Lance acting like a diva, demanding that their driver stop. Lance is one stubborn motherfucker. Joey pities their driver, even moves to try and reign Lance in when he realises the poor man is trying to drive in awful conditions and Lance's ranting is a distraction he doesn't deserve. Then suddenly, the man's scowl deepens and he leans forward, hits a button on the oversized dash, and the door opens with an outward jerk, flinging rain outwards right before it returns with the force of the wind outside. Lance darts forward as soon as the bus comes to a stop, still in his thin bus clothes of worn comfort and nothing else. Joey doesn't stop to think, runs out after him immediately. He's dimly aware of the doors closing behind him, but his eyes stay on Lance, now standing by the side of the road with his face raised to the sky, shivering and eyes squinted. The rain in painful, hurtling downwards to wash into warm puddles.
Reaching out to Lance, Joey tells him, "Let's go back inside, please, Lance c'mon, please." A line of vehicles pass them, including the bus with the other guys, but no one would be able to see them, two wet miserable figures, through the rain haze. "A little longer, just a bit longer," Lance begs, lips turning blue. Joey grabs him in the slippery rain, holds him close, not wanting to force him back to the bus but thinking he might need to. Lance collapses limp against Joey, winds his arms around Joey's middle and leans on him until Joey stumbles back up against the bus' side. It becomes warmer after a while, summer rain and the little heat lingering between them. Joey rests his head against the top of Lance's, rain slick jacket their only cover, breathing shallowly, closing his eyes to everything else.
The doors open with a hiss when the rain begins to ease. They untangle themselves from each other and climb back in without a word.
****
He's away from the guys when he finds out, Kelly flying out to meet him with her news. It's been a few months, and again he's forgotten how attractive she is. She looks stressed, walking through the concourse of the airport, and Joey still wants to run his hands along the curve of her side, remembers what she looks like naked. He grins as she finally spots him, a big smile that falters, watching her run a few steps forward then stop to force herself to walk slowly to him. It's a deliberate walk. She doesn't look him in the eye when she tells him what she came all the way to say in person.
They spend the entire afternoon holed up in his hotel room, and Joey feels guilty when he doesn't take Lance's call when it comes, the sixth hour after Kelly's arrival. He has his arms around her, they're sitting on the bed, her knees tucked and touching his. She starts crying again. Six hours, and Joey remembers vaguely that she's here for the another two days, that he has a seven o'clock wake-up call tomorrow for a short scene. He holds her tighter, her sobs softer when muffled against the bright red T-shirt Chris bought for him over the internet, and resolves to wait it out. Years of his life ahead of him. Nothing will end here because of this.
****
A few months into this arrangement, best friends and lovers, and Lance realises it's a time of changes. This film, it's an effort to branch out and try something new. One. Joey, a father in less than a month. Two. Lance tries not to worry, but then things like this happen: a rained out set, money wasted, giving the backers something else to complain about. Trapped indoors because of the downpour, and diehard fans, outside. He feels grumpy, and a sigh escapes him, a put-upon sound. Joey responds as Lance knew he would.
"What's up, baby?"
Lance winces at the casual term, then crawls to spread himself over Joey, warm on the bed. "It's cold, and I hate the rain, and I think I'm getting an ulcer. This film was a stupid idea." He thumps his head on Joey's chest once, none too softly. Joey hums in response, deep from his throat, and shifts slightly, one hand still resting on his stomach between their bodies. He doesn't say anything else, and Lance thinks he might have fallen asleep, until Joey flips him over and hovers over him. Behind Joey, there's a gap in the curtains, a sliver of grey sky, and Lance watches a streak of white before his eyes, the crack of thunder soon after.
Joey keeps silent, moves on Lance with precise movements, but slow. There's different tones, a tuneless scale as raindrops strike, a chill that blows in past the lazily flapping cloth. The blankets are on the floor around the bed, and Lance keeps his eyes open through everything, watching. Joey eases into him and bites his lip, then Lance's, kisses that nip at small folds of skin inside his mouth.
Afterwards, Lance asks out loud, dreamily, "Do you belong to me, or to her, now?" Joey is suddenly tense. Lance sighs into the silence, "That was a rhetorical question." His face resting against the slope of Joey's shoulder, he rubs Joey's back in little circles, pushing at the knots over and over.
****
The first time they kiss is the morning after they brave the rain by the side of the road. Joey won't Lance go straight to bed that night; his mom had always told him that going to bed with wet hair would give him nightmares, a headache the next morning that he wouldn't be able to shake off. He sits Lance down on the couch firmly, and rubs his hair as dry as he can with a threadbare handtowel, the only clean one on the bus, until they both fall asleep there just before dawn.
Joey wakes up with a sore neck from the low back of the sofa, wakes up to find Lance still in his lap. Lance is watching him with a curious look in his eyes, damp towel still in his hand, and Joey knows he should move now before things change beyond a night in the rain, something out of the ordinary. He stays still. Lance places his mouth on Joey's, closes his eyes, and breathes in. Joey tastes something dirt fresh under the scent of soap and shampoo. He kisses Lance back.
****
Joey has Briahna for the weekend, and Lance comes over early on Sunday morning. He takes the sleep cranky baby from Joey's arms at the door, gives him a little push on the shoulder.
"Go, go take a shower. I'll look after her and wait."
Lance whirls Briahna in the air, round and round, voice already softening as she burbles gleefully at him, and Joey shrugs and goes to enjoy a little peace after a broken night's sleep. He walks out of his ensuite, refreshed and awake, to find Lance playing peek-a-boo with Briahna on his unmade bed, using the sheets to disappear and reappear to the delight of his little girl. Joey stops to watch, leaning against the doorjamb, towel still wrapped around his waist, flecks of water cooling and rolling down his back.
Lance pops out from under a ridge of linen, back angled away Joey, and grins at Briahna, who giggles in response and reaches out with chubby fingers for her godfather. Lance picks her up, and says with an exaggerated growl of surprise, "Look what I found! My, aren't you looking gorgeous today."
Joey can't help himself then; puts on his best falsetto and drawls in reply, "Why, Mister Bass, I had no idea you felt that way about me."
Lance freezes, and then takes his time in turning towards Joey. "Baby, you don't know the half of it," he says, stroking Briahna's cheek with one hand, fingers gentle.
END
I can hear him singing / ooh love is strange / come dance with me baby / in the summer rain
For the Rain Challenge.
You can find the nice version, and the lyrics of the song, here at my site.
Las: Checkmated is a Ron/Hermione archive. All the stories have to at least have a mention of a Ron/Hermione relationship, if not focussed on it. It's got a lovely layout, and seems to run quite smoothly.
.
.
.
and in other news, I'm another year older. Fancy that.