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Demonstrate
(a not-quite *Mprov) So okay.
I was too chicken-shit to actually try this in a room full of my honoured
and respected peers (definition of *mprov: a bunch of people in an IRC
chatroom -- #mprov -- and each supplies a word, and the designated author
has to write a story using those words. You write it in real-time, and
the story must feature at least one *NSYNC-er), so I did it in an AIM
chat with just one honoured and respected peer, Stacia. Because, you know,
I'm not afraid of looking like a fool in front of her and only her. :-).
She supplied the words, I went hog-wild. This is what happened. It's the
poor-man's *mprov, I guess. I've edited it some, because I've realized
that it really sucked before. It sort of still sucks, but whatever.
"Of course you are," JC said agreeably, as he headed into the kitchen ahead of Lance and retrieved a bottle of Evian from the refrigerator. "I mean it, Jace," Lance went on, tossing the hat aside. "I'm never going out without sunblock ever again." He slumped against the kitchen counter, folding his arms across his chest, then winced and dropped his arms immediately. "Fuck." "You said that last time, babe," JC pointed out, setting down the bottle and leaning over the counter. He reached for Lance's elbow. "And the time before. Lemme see; here," he murmured softly, trailing his hand down over the reddened skin of the blond's arm. Lance's muscles were taut, prepared to flinch away if JC pressed down too hard and irritated the burns. "It doesn't look that bad," he told Lance after the inspection. "Want me to get some ice for you to put on it?" Lance nodded pitifully as JC returned to the fridge, this time to open the freezer. "And I need, like... aloe vera. A bath of aloe vera. Can you get sunburn on your palms? 'Cause I'm pretty sure my palms are sunburned." "You big baby," JC laughed, cracking the ice-tray and dumping its contents into a dishtowel, wetting it with the water from the bottle. He affected a pout. "You'll never play piano again," he sighed dramatically. "Don't say that," Lance warned. He made his way around the counter island to meet JC halfway. "It's my only other marketable musical skill. Other than that I only have 'business mogul and professional mingler' to put on my resumé." Holding out his arms, he let JC grasp them lightly, dangling them over the sink, and watched as his boyfriend draped the towel over them both, allowing the ice to rest on top. JC shrugged. "That's not such a bad thing. Make your millions from behind a desk." "And if my businesses go under?" Lance challenged. "Then I'll have to be a store clerk or something. Or one of those, like, live mannequins in the mall that never blink." "Oh, and you'd be terrible." JC nodded sagely. He rubbed at the towels on Lance's arms with a feather-light touch, massaging in the coolness. "You definitely blink too much for that." "You know," Lance observed, "it was your idea to go have a picnic today. You lured me out there with your 'oh, but it's so beautiful out' and your 'but I thought you liked the outdoors' and your...." he sputtered, "convoluted shit about communing with nature and the goddess Sophia* and whatever the hell -- I don't even know why I'm with you." "Because I'm the only one who would sit here massaging your arms with an ice-soaked towel because you can't be in the sun for an hour without getting toasted?" "I was thinking it was the blow jobs," Lance admitted. "But that's a pretty good one, too." He smiled to take the sting out of the sarcasm, and JC did some sidestepping to get closer and kiss him. No tongue; Lance knew that JC tended to move from a light to heavy touch rather quickly when the kisses became passionate, and he valued his tender skin. "Besides," he added, when they parted. "You'd do this for any of the guys." JC frowned slightly. "I would not," he insisted. "Why would you say something like that? I would not." Lance sighed, rolling his eyes. "JC, who was the only one who sat with Chris and listened to him whine about his itchy, smelly feet that time when he got athlete's foot? You. I mean, the rest of us didn't even wanna sit next to him--" "Athlete's foot isn't contagious like that," JC argued. "I tried to tell you guys, but you're so ignorant, I swear--" "--and you let him put his ugly, smelly--" "You said that already," JC grumbled. "--feet on your lap and everything. If I should be sleeping with you for taking care of my sunburn, you and Chris should be fucking married or something, I dunno." He winced. "Ow." "Sorry; am I pressing too hard?" JC asked, pulling back his hands a little, but Lance shook his head. "No, it's... I--" He paused, turning to look out of the window over the sink. "Thanks," he said softly, feeling ungrateful and uncertain, and hating the fact that he felt either. There was silence for a time as a quiet unease settled between the two. "You're welcome," JC finally spoke up, keeping up the light motion against Lance's arms. "But I wouldn't, you know." "Wouldn't what?" Lance murmured absently. "Wouldn't do this for any of the other guys," JC clarified. "I mean, there's a big difference between putting up with someone and doing important stuff for them, you know?" "I know, but--" "And, I mean, you do a lot of stuff for the guys, too. Like that time you bought a thesaurus and went hunting through it to help Joey with his crossword puzzle? Remember that? When we all learned that 'vomit' is a five-letter word for--" Lance finished for him, smiling slightly, though his gaze was still fixed upon the sprawling lawn visible through the window. "'Regurgitate'. But that's not the same thing." "It is," JC insisted. "It is, and does that mean you think more of Joey than me? Does that mean you love Joey more than you love me?" He reached out to grip Lance by the shoulders, remembering just in time that his shoulders were as badly burned as his forearms. Instead he cupped the younger man's face in his hands and turned him so that they were eye to eye. "I can read your mind, Lance," he stated bluntly, seeing the insecurity in the expressive, pale eyes. "Don't think for a second that I don't save the special things for you. Don't think for a second that I do this stuff as a courtesy, something just because we're in the same band and I see you every day, and you were just... convenient or something, because I know that's what you're worried about, and I don't know why you get so scared, but that's not me, so don't be like that. Okay?" He leaned forward and touched his forehead to Lance's. "Okay?" he repeated, and felt Lance's tentative nod in his hands, before his lover flinched away minutely. "Ow, my nose," Lance moaned. "Sunburn. Friction. Bad." JC apologized and pulled back and Lance chuckled slightly, doubly bashful at having been moody and having broken the mood, but when JC laughed in return he knew that all was forgiven. "So, um," he began again, "while I'm taking advantage of your good will and all, do we even have any aloe vera? 'Cause I'm really.... hurting." "You know, I have no idea," JC confessed, still smiling as he stripped the towel off of Lance's arms and took him by the hand. "If we just get some regular lotion and stick it in the fridge for a few minutes, do you think that'll feel good?" Lance shrugged as JC tugged him up the stairs, grimacing at the motion. "I'm willing to try anything." Once they reached the bedroom he leaned up against the doors to their walk-in closet, patiently waiting for JC to find something suitable to soothe his skin with. "And," he blurted suddenly, "you know I really love you, right?" JC paused in his search for lotion in the nightstand. "Yeah," he said. "I really love you, too." He smiled and bowed over his work again. "No, I--" Lance swallowed, feeling his eyes well up with tears. He blinked them back. "I really love you more than anything. And I just..." he sighed. "I get stupid and I know you know that and I know you're, like, okay with it and everything, but I really had to just say that--" he broke off, his voice cracking, and looked to the side. "Lance, I already said it's--" "That I really, really love you more than anything," Lance concluded, his eyes still averted, and when he returned his gaze to JC's, he seemed to be back under control; eyes still wet, but no longer threatening to overflow. JC pulled
out the first thing his fingers closed upon in the drawer, never taking
his eyes off of his lover. He fought the urge to reciprocate, knowing
that Lance didn't expect or need the words; that he only had to demonstrate
it with his actions. He checked the label of the item he'd chosen: Vaseline
Intensive Care. Perfect. "Come over here and I'll put this on you,"
he instructed quietly, and then proceeded to demonstrate what he didn't
need to say. * -- The views of Lance on the goddess Sophia are fictional and do not necessarily reflect my own views. No offense intended towards the goddess Sophia. I'm sure she's a fine lady. [back] |