This was an *mprov written over AIM with words supplied by Stacia. She is mean to me.
Words: indelible, formulaic, carbohydrates, revelation, solidify

You know, you were my first.

The words haunted JC -- no, taunted him, keeping him awake long after his body had screamed at him to sleep. And the graveness behind them had caused him to waken too early; a glance at his clock told him that it was 6:22 -- eight minutes to his wake-up call. Normally he would consider it too late to go back to sleep, but now his stomach roiled with the contents of last night's drinking binge, and the last thing he wanted to do was eat breakfast with the others. He decided he'd rather spend the extra half hour staring up at the ceiling, and get up just in time to make it on the bus... eat some junk they'd stored in the fridge instead.

Then he would barely run into Lance at all.

You know, you were my first.

Yes, he had known. Or rather, he had suspected. They had all suspected that Lance might be less than perfectly straight, but on nights when he was sexually active -- an occurance rare enough that at least one member of the group usually knew when it happened -- it was with women, not men. Not so the previous night, when JC had opted out of clubbing, and gone to Lance's room to see if the younger man wanted to watch a movie and just hang out. Lance had been getting drunk by himself, signing photographs for the fan club that he hadn't gotten around to doing earlier. He'd told JC to help himself to both the booze and the television; said that he'd catch up with him in a bit.

Sometime around the exciting car chase scene, JC had finished his fourth? fifth? glass of rum and when he looked over at Lance the latter was watching him thoughtfully, chewing on the cap of the indelible marker he'd been writing with. "What?" JC had asked. Lance had shaken his head.

"Nothin'," came the mumble from around the cap. Lance attempted to duck away from JC's gaze, but now JC was intrigued. He had seen that look before; that glittery-eyed stare, lids narrowed, head tilted back just slightly. He had seen Lance look at women -- and a couple of men, though he'd never admit to that -- in the clubs that way. It was his stealthy way of sizing them up, undressing them mentally, making them so interested that they came to him before he had to make a move to pick them up himself. JC shot a warning glance at the television as a car soared over a dumpster in a formulaic move and landed on the other side, sending up sparks as its shocks received a jarring blow.

He crawled slowly across the floor. "Really?" he asked in a low voice, liking how the sound had come out menacingly, liking how Lance had seemed to back up on his chair towards the wall only to find that the chair was already pressed against the wall as far as it would go. And he liked the way Lance looked under the flourescent light from the desk and the flickering light from the television. He'd always liked the way Lance looked, had dreamed about that face... and the booze might have made him bold, but certainly no one was forcing Lance to stare at him like he was a potential lay. "You're looking at nothing?" He maneuvered his slender body between Lance's knees, not pressing his way closer. But he did lean his face up towards Lance's. And Lance did tilt his own head down.

The first kiss was bashful, a feather-light brush against the side of JC's mouth. Lance's lips had curled up in a slight smile as he pulled back, and that coy look alone made JC want to pull his alcohol-heated face back down, cover it with kisses, roll him to the floor and sink into him until the rum left their systems. Instead he leaned in closer and touched his lips gently to Lance's again, and followed him backwards and did it again. And by that point his hands were on Lance's knees and were drifting upwards and inwards, and Lance's hips were sliding down the chair towards him.

Somewhere in the middle JC had realized that the kisses were no longer gentle, that Lance was no longer on the chair, and that the movie had long since been displaying a blue screen. They hadn't made it to the bed, and JC couldn't remember many of the details except for when he'd asked Lance, "why didn't you tell me?"

And Lance had replied, "I didn't want to admit it to myself."

That revelation had startled him into silence, as much as he could maintain while physical needs demanded that he cry out. Lance had shushed him with a hand over the mouth, much more quiet himself in his release. It was only later that the magnitude of what had occured hit JC full-force, only later that the haze of intoxication faded as reality began to solidify for him.

JC was fully unprepared to deal with the consequences.

This was most definitely not a mere groupie lay, easily excused by too many drinks and easily forgotten in the morning when they would only be rolling into the next venue by midnight. This was a member of the group; furthermore, it was Lance, who rarely submitted to casual sex but who valued the anonymity it brought. Never having to face the girl again made it so much easier to let oneself go and be wilder than one might have been otherwise -- this JC knew firsthand.

In short, it was better to get out now, before Lance took this as a sign of attachment.

It had seemed like a good idea until Lance woke up to him pulling his shirt back over his head. "You're goin'?" he asked groggily, draping an arm across his eyes and rubbing at them with it.

"Yeah," JC nodded, stumbling against the wall as he tugged a shoe on. "Yeah, I think I better head back... you know... get some rest, or...." and Lance had pulled back his arm and was staring at him again from the bed, only this time his expression was unreadable, and JC didn't think Lance had ever given this particular look across a club floor.

"You know," Lance began, and then averted his gaze to the door, where JC was heading. "You were my first," he said softly.

And it would just figure. For JC to acknowledge that fact, though, would mean that things would have to change between them, because Lance wouldn't simply give something like that up without deeper feelings. And JC liked Lance, thought he was beautiful -- knew he was, now -- and had held that spark of attraction towards him for some time now. But this... this could only breed tensions within the group. And tension would make their jobs that much more difficult. And JC definitely did not need that.

He pretended not to hear Lance, and closed the door gently behind him.

***

Down in the lobby Justin and Joey were curled up against each other, catching a momentary snooze while they waited for their complete entourage and buses to arrive. Chris had segregated himself from the others, muttering quietly into his cell phone -- whether for business or pleasure, JC couldn't tell. Lance sat off to himself as well, sipping pensively from a breakfast energy shake, its label promising a beverage high in protein and vitamins, free of carbohydrates and preservatives. JC figured that meant Lance had opted to skip breakfast, too.

"Well, it was good of you to join us," Chris greeted JC as he shut his phone and approached, bridging the distance between JC and Lance. "What'd you guys end up doing last night?"

JC wasn't sure that Lance would even speak to him, let alone concoct a story on his behalf. "Oh, we um--" he stammered, woeful at lying when he felt so guilty already.

"We watched a movie," Lance put in lightheartedly, raising his eyebrows at Chris and taking a long sip from his shake as his eyes swept from Chris to JC and back again.

"Oh," Chris nodded. "Was it any good?"

Lance made a noncomittal sound and stood, stretching. "Well, I didn't care too much for the ending, but you know. Can't get those two hours back now." He shrugged and deliberately tossed the half-empty shake into the garbage, keeping his eyes on JC the entire time, and JC wished that he'd only been talking about the movie.

Title taken from a lyric in Love Song, © 1989 Madonna and Prince.

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