Rebound

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1. If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.

2. I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy flames, and will not tolerate them.

That said, we now continue.

Justin held my hand, starting to lead me out of the music room, but I didn't want to let this go just yet. For whatever reason, I just couldn't get JC's face, downturned and hurt, out of my mind, and I didn't really care for the cavalier way Justin had just treated him. That he could be so casually uncaring about JC's feelings bothered the hell out of me in light of everything else he'd told me about him, and it left me wondering again what my purpose here, in the house with the two of them, in Justin's bed, really was. I stopped in the middle of the music room, not quite digging my heels in, but the pause was enough to stop Justin, too. He turned to look at me, his eyebrows rising.

"Justin, do you, um," I began, trying to phrase it. "Don't you think you were a little harsh?"

"Harsh?" he echoed, not understanding.

"To JC just now," I said, nodding toward the doorway. Justin's face was blankly curious as he stared at me, expressionless. "Don't you think you were kind of cold, a little?"

He looked at me with such a carefully smooth face that I doubted myself for a second. Maybe he really didn't think he'd done anything wrong.

"I don't think so," he answered finally, shrugging. "He was interrupting us."

"He was checking on you!" I said sharply, pulling my hand out of his. "You heard what he said. He knew you were on the phone with your mother, and he was worried about you."

"You're really pissed about this, aren't you?" Justin asked, cocking his head to the side. Did he really not understand why I was upset? Was he the Justin I knew, or the Justin that Chris told me about way back in Boston? Why couldn't I tell anymore? Back then I'd been so sure, but now I was just confused all the time. "Chris, I was, you know, maybe I was a little bit short, but he was bothering us."

"He's bound to!" I snapped. "We're in the same house, and the damn place isn't that big! He's bound to trip over us and bother us and interrupt us the whole time we're here!"

"Why are you yelling at me?" Justin asked, his mouth turning down, his face creasing. "Why are you so mad at me?"

I felt my heart wrench a little, felt something inside of me pinching tightly. I was upsetting Justin on top of a phone call from his mother, an experience that always left him raw and hurt. How could I expect him to have been thinking clearly? What the hell kind of a boyfriend was I, anyway? I wanted to reach out to him, to scoop him back up, but then I caught myself, because I also wanted to make a point. I wanted to believe that he'd just been thoughtless, but at the same time I still had those nagging little suspicions. Damn it, was it Justin who had changed? Or maybe was it me?

"Why are we here?" I asked, lowering my tone, taking some of the bite out. "Why did we come back here?"

"Because I wanted to be home," Justin answered, looking guiltily at his shoes. "And I, um, wanted to be friends with JC again."

"And he was just trying to be friends with you," I began.

"And I snapped at him," Justin finished. OK, he got the point. I reached out and pulled him into a hug, and he held onto me tightly, sighing.

"Maybe you should apologize," I said, touching his back, feeling the push of his chest against me.

"Sorry," he said immediately, his hands sliding down to the small of my back, fingertips lightly tracing up and down just above my ass.

"Not me, but thanks," I said, chuckling a little. "I meant JC."

"Maybe," Justin sighed. "Maybe in the morning."

"Maybe?" I asked, irked. "Justin, he was just."

"He knew you were down here," Justin said. "Like you said, the house isn't that big. He must have known you came down, and he came down anyway. I'll think about apologizing. Maybe."

Great. Where the hell did this leave me? Maybe Justin was playing games, and using me to hurt JC. Or, maybe JC was playing games, and deliberately sticking his nose in when he knew that I'd be comforting Justin. Maybe everyone here was crazy, me included.

"Fine," I sighed, giving up. "Do whatever you want."

I found myself staring at the wall, at row after row of pictures of Justin and the guys, neatly arranged in a grid of tiny frames. It was a cute effect, line after line of candid photographs, and I wondered if Justin or JC had done it or if some interior decorator had. Probably them. No decorator would have left this room with that weird space helmet and all those Hard Rock menus. Justin walked up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders.

"It's nice to be home," he sighed, and we both smiled. I could hear the happiness in his voice. He looked over my shoulder at the pictures, and started to point. "That one's from Germany. I look, God, we were all so young, then. That's me and Lance in Paris. Neither one of us had ever been out of the country before, I don't think any of us had, and we were just dazzled. Over there, that's from the party we had the night we won our lawsuit, and that's from when we got our tattoos in Toronto, the fire on my ankle. Everyone has one but JC."

"Why?" I asked, curious.

"He's scared of needles," Justin answered. He looked at the picture wall, and then tugged at my hand again. "Maybe we should clear some of these frames out. Get some pictures of you and me in here."

Sure, Justin. Plug me right into the vacant boyfriend spot, just like everyone thinks you already are. Give me his bed, his dresser, his watch, and even his picture frames, and I'll do my best to fit the part.

"Or you could just get more frames," I said, pulling away. "I'm going to bed."

"Me too," Justin said, ignoring the change in my demeanor.

I felt very tired suddenly, completely exhausted, and I didn't argue as Justin led me by the hand up the stairs. I was still a little irritated with the way Justin had treated JC, not so much by what he had done as by the casual way he had done it, and still a little unsettled about where I fit into the whole dynamic between them. Things were shifting between Justin and I, too, and they had started the minute we got to Florida. I didn't want to think it, but I was starting to feel like maybe Chris was right, at least a little. As much as Justin had promised not to fall into his same old patterns around me, not to be the spoiled little popstar I had met at the airport the day I went to pick him up, every time I turned around that's what he was doing. As much as he had told me that JC was an asshole and a bastard and everything else, JC had actually been nothing but polite while Justin had just been abrasive and snippy every time we were around any of his bandmates.

I was already in bed, under the covers with my boxers on and the lights off, when Justin slid in next to me. I saw a small picture of Britney on the nightstand on one side, so I assumed the other side was mine. While Justin was in the bathroom brushing his teeth I surreptitiously looked in the nightstand on my side, feeling like I was snooping even though I had every right to be there, according to both people who owned the house, and saw that the drawers were all empty. I was laying on JC's side of the bed, in JC's bedroom, next to JC's best friend and soul mate and boyfriend, and I was the only one who would admit to being uncomfortable with it. Even if Justin was my boyfriend now, this was just freaky and weird and fucked up, and, once again, Joey was right. This couldn't be good for any of us.

"Hey," Justin whispered, sliding across the mattress. They were the softest sheets I'd ever slept on, not silk, but some kind of smoothly brushed cotton or something. Justin's hand touched my back, very soft and tentative, and I leaned back a little to let him know it was ok. He pulled me toward him as he slid closer, draping his arm over my chest as he drew me back against him. I felt his chest settling against me, smooth skin and hard muscle, and his thighs tucked in behind mine like we were pieces of the same puzzle. Justin's voice was a soft, husky whisper when he finally spoke. "I love being here, like this, with you."

"Me too," I whispered. I guess this was the wrong time to ask if maybe he wanted to switch to one of the other bedrooms. "I'm glad you're happy, baby."

"Really?" he whispered, his voice taking on a different tone. He started to kiss the top of my shoulder. I could feel his groin against me, and he wasn't hard, but it was probably only a matter of seconds before that changed. His hand across my chest started rubbing my side. "Want to see how happy I am?"

"No," I answered, catching hold of his hand with mine. I pressed it back to my chest, holding it in place, but could feel that he was surprised. No way in hell were Justin and I christening the bed with things left like that between us. "Let's just go to sleep."

"Are you serious?" he asked, still frozen.

"Yes," I answered, smirking. "Remember when I asked you to apologize to JC for hurting his feelings when he was just trying to be your friend? You think about that, and then we'll talk."

Justin chuckled against me, which wasn't exactly the response I was going for.

"You're going to withhold sex from me until I apologize?" he asked. He gave my shoulder one last kiss. "OK, we'll see how long that lasts. Good night, Chris."

"Good night, Justin."

I woke up before him in the morning, and slid out of bed using my tried and true pillow substitution as he murmured and tried to hold onto me. After showering quickly and dressing down in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt I checked on him, but he was still out cold, and I knew he didn't have anything to do today, so I decided to let him sleep, pulling the sheet up tightly over him and rubbing his head for a minute until I was sure he was settled again. I got my book off of the nightstand and closed the bedroom door behind me before heading downstairs to the kitchen. Walking down the steps, I smelled something cooking, and as I got closer I could tell that it was bacon, frying audibly in a pan, and heard someone singing. I wasn't sure, since the words were murmured and quiet, but it actually seemed kind of like an old spiritual, a little bit of gospel, maybe.

I walked into the kitchen and saw JC at the stove with his back to me. He was dressed about the same as I was, but barefoot, and I wondered if he had something against shoes. He always seemed to be barefoot or in sandals. He was working with a couple of pans, and there was a plate next to him on one side of the stove. On the other side there was a collection of breakfast stuff: an opened carton of eggs, a carton of milk (two percent, not skim), a little package of shredded cheddar, an open package of bacon. Somehow it shoulder have seemed messy, but it looked ordered, not haphazard, everything neatly laid out. On the table I saw a glass, a carton of orange juice, a set of silverware on a neatly folded paper napkin, and a bottle of Tabasco sauce.

It seemed odd, somehow, to see him just working on a standard, if large, breakfast, as in the back of my mind I just always kind of thought that people like this wouldn't buy their own groceries or cook their own food. Justin seemed to bear that out by ordering food every time he was responsible for dinner at my place. The only time he had actually helped prepare anything was when I started it, and even then he only did stuff like making a salad. It was more likely that, living in hotels for most of his teenage years, or on a tour bus, he just didn't know how to cook, whereas JC, from the little bit I knew, had lived on his own somewhere between the Mickey Mouse Club and Nsync. Then again, I had no idea if "on his own" meant by himself, or with someone else.

"Good morning," I said, not wanting to startle him.

"Hey, good morning," he said, smiling. It was a no teeth smile, just an upcurl of his mouth, but at least it wasn't hostile. He nodded toward a set of canisters on the counter. "Justin said that you drink coffee, and you had it on the grocery list, but I didn't know how you make it, or when you guys were getting up."

"Justin isn't up yet," I said, smiling, and JC rolled his eyes. I could see the coffeemaker, a simple to use but obviously expensive model, gleaming on the counter. Did they have a housekeeper, or was JC also the one behind this gleaming perfection? And when did I start noticing stuff like that? "Cups?"

"Cups are in that cabinet, filters are in that one over there," he answered, pointing. "I'm guessing he'll sleep for another couple hours. We're all like that on our days off. Sometimes I crave sleep so much that when I actually do it, I dream about being asleep. It's weird."

"But you're up today," I pointed out, closing up the coffeemaker and filling the pot at the sink. I was starting to get Justin onto my coffee habit, so I included enough for him, too, figuring that these guys had to have a carafe somewhere in one of these cabinets, or at least a thermos. "You're not off?"

He turned back to his pan, quickly, looking down and giving the eggs a stir with the spatula.

"I couldn't sleep," he answered quietly. His voice rose back up to the pleasant tone he'd had so fast that it was like I hadn't just heard him. "Do you want some eggs? I was making them, you know, for breakfast, but I don't mind throwing in a couple more if you want some."

"Sure," I answered, wondering if I should push it. Then again, the reason why he couldn't sleep was either because he was upset about what Justin had said last night, upset about me being here, or upset about some combination of both. Did I really feel like opening that can of worms before I'd even had a cup of coffee?

"You want cheese in them?" he asked, and I nodded, shrugging a little. JC smiled, again that little half smile, and went back to the pan, cracking a couple more eggs into it and adding some milk. He dropped the eggshells onto a folded square of paper towels with the others, and I wondered again if there was anything about him that wasn't perfect. The thought was unfair to him, but that didn't stop me from thinking that way. JC, oblivious to my mental comparisons of him and Martha Stewart, babbled on over his frying pan.

"I know it's kind of weird, since they're scrambled eggs, not an omelet or something, but my mother always put cheese in them when we were little, and I guess I just can't get over the taste. My dad always ate them with Tabasco, even though my mom didn't, so I guess I really just like this kind of amalgamation of their tastes put together. I know everyone doesn't eat them that way, and if you want ketchup there's a bottle in the fridge if you just want to grab it, or you can share the Tabasco, too. You should probably grab a plate, too. Hey, do you want bacon?"

"Uh, yeah, really crispy" I answered, realizing that he was babbling to cover what he'd just said about not sleeping. It gave us both an out, though, so I was happy to take the bait when he offered it. I went to get myself a plate from the cabinet he'd nodded toward. If nothing else, at least he was showing me the way around the kitchen. "Are you close to them? Your mom and dad?"

"We used to be," he answered, looking down again. Shit. I was batting a thousand already this morning. "They, um, we're not like we were. I mean, it's not like Justin and Lynn, thank goodness, because I just couldn't deal with the screaming and the crying and everything else. They just, we're a little distant now. How about you? Things good with your family?"

"Yeah," I answered, nodding. The coffee was brewing up nicely, adding a layer of scent to the already warm, homey kitchen. I was leaning on the counter, unsure of how a kitchen this big could feel cozy, but it was nice hanging out with JC and getting to know him a little better. "It was rough for a while, but we get along pretty well now."

"That's good," he said, nodding. "Brothers or sisters?"

"Only child," I answered. "I count April as family, like the sister I never had. If, of course, my sister was kind of spoiled and impulsive but still a sweetheart."

I smiled when I said it, and JC nodded, smiling, too.

"Yeah, that's April," he agreed. "No wonder her and Justin get along so well."

"How about you? Brothers or sisters?" I asked, finally pouring myself a cup of coffee. I had forgotten to put creamer on the grocery list, but when I looked in the refrigerator I saw that JC had anticipated me, and there were a few bottles of expensive flavored creamers that it would probably be best for me not to get used to what with my grocery budget at home. When I turned back around he was pushing the sugar bowl toward me, and opening it I saw packets of sugar and artificial sweetener. I guess I could add "thoughtful" to "perfect" if I wanted to feel even worse about myself.

"Tyler and Heather," he answered, switching off the stove. "One of each flavor, but both younger. Grab your plate."

I held both plates and he halved the eggs, sliding equal portions onto both. He followed it with the bacon, and then we both sat at the table, him with a big glass of juice and me with a huge steaming cup of coffee. JC, like Justin, paused for a second over his food, eyes closed, and I wondered if I was going to have to start doing that. He opened his eyes as I watched him, and our gazes locked for a second before I looked away.

"So, is Chris short for Christopher, or just Chris by itself?" he asked, practically drowning his eggs in Tabasco.

"It's Christopher," I answered. I guess he didn't get the report from Lynn and Chris's private investigator, or else he was just politely pretending not to have. "And JC?"

"When I joined the Club, there was already a Josh," he explained, smiling contentedly as he chewed his eggs. "So I became JC. Joshua Chasez, uh, Chasez."

I smirked, and he caught it before I could make any comments.

"Not a word," he said, shaking his head. "I've heard it all before."

"I didn't say a thing," I said, holding up my hands innocently. "You, um, got a middle name, Joshua Chasez Chasez?"

"Scott," he answered, rolling his brilliantly blue green eyes toward the ceiling. "How about you, Christopher Vanderhall?"

"Lucas," I answered. "But I never use that, ever."

"Darn," he said, shaking his head. "I was hoping we could give you another name."

"What's wrong with the one I have?" I asked, chewing. That had come right out of left field. "These are good eggs, by the way."

"I didn't mean it like that!" he said quickly. "Not in a bad way or anything. It's just that you and Chris have the same name, and if you're going to be around for a while we need a way of telling you apart, you know?"

As much as the idea that I needed a name change surprised me, the thought that JC wanted to accommodate me staying around for a while almost knocked me off of my seat. Why was he being so nice to me? Why was he trying to be my buddy, cooking me breakfast and chatting over our eggs like the two of us were just really good friends? Why wasn't he being jealous and snippy and petty and all the things that being around him when Justin was nearby made me?

"We could go with last names," I suggested lamely. "Or just the initials, since it worked for you."

"Yeah, but then you'd be Chris V.," he said, chuckling a little. He had a good laugh, like Justin's. "It makes you sound like a sequel, like another 'Rocky' movie or something. 'Hey, there's Nsync, and their friend Chris Five!'"

We both laughed at that, even if it was a pretty sorry joke.

"You could just keep calling us both Chris," I said finally. "I mean, honestly, it will probably be obvious which one you're talking to."

"What do you mean?" he asked, waiting. We were both almost done with breakfast.

"Well, you know," I answered, shrugging. "We just seem like pretty different people, at least from what I've seen."

"Not so much," JC said thoughtfully. "You're both opinionated, and neither one of you is afraid to speak your minds, at least from what I've seen. You're both loyal, too."

I frowned, chewing long enough to frame my thoughts without being hurtful. JC and I were getting along so well that I didn't want to blow it.

"JC, I see what you're trying to do," I began, and he raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "Trying to get me to see that Chris and I have this common ground and maybe someday we'll be friends or something like that. It's a good thought, but it's not going to happen."

"Why not?" he asked. His tone was light, not accusatory. Maybe he really couldn't imagine that people might not be able to forgive each other and get along.

"Because I have limits," I answered. "What he did, I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't bully someone or threaten them."

"But you kneed him in the nuts," JC pointed out, again his tone a lot lighter than the thought behind it.

"As a defensive gesture," I pointed out. "I kind of wish I hadn't done it, because I'm sure it's not going to help anything, but he drove me to it. Maybe you don't understand that, but."

"No, I don't," he answered. "I, the way I was raised, we consider it wrong to hurt someone else. I guess if it was self defense, I could see it, and maybe this was. The way he's treated you and Justin is completely unacceptable. I wish I'd known what he was doing, the things he was saying to both of you. That really wasn't his place, or something he should have been doing."

I was about to ask him what he would have done if he had known, but his phone rang, the soft chimes cutting in, breaking our mood a little. He pulled it off of his waist, checking the display, and frowned uncomfortably, biting his bottom lip a little. Immediately the thought that it must be Chris popped into my head. I'd be a little thrown if he called me right when we were talking about him, too. I touched JC's forearm lightly, and his head snapped up as the phone continued to ring.

"Answer it," I said, gesturing toward the door with my head. "I'll get the dishes."

"Um, ok, sure," he said, swallowing. He got up, lifting his chair a little as he stood so that it didn't scrape on the floor and make an annoying noise, and walked out of the room as he flipped his phone open. "Good morning."

I got up, my chair making an obnoxious noise on the floor because I was not perfect, and gathered our plates up, stacking them and laying the silverware on top before I carried them over to the sink. I rinsed them off and dropped them into the dishwasher, racking them along with a few other dishes that were already in there, even though the ones there looked clean already. Doubtlessly JC had rinsed them well enough to carefully remove every trace of food and almost render washing them unnecessary, while I had just run enough water over them to knock off the bigger chunks. I sighed over the open dishwasher, realizing that I really, desperately needed to stop doing this to myself, because it was getting to be ridiculous. JC was not a godly creature who existed on some other plane of existence that I would never be able to aspire to or hope to attain.

As a matter of fact, he was probably in the hall saying something imperfect to Chris right now, and as soon as I thought it I had the urge to go listen. Sure, it was eavesdropping, and sure, that was bad. On the other hand, was it really any kind of moral infraction if they were talking about me? I was practically part of the conversation already, so I might as well hear it. At least, that's what I told myself as I peered into the hallway. I continued telling myself that what I was doing was not, in fact, completely inappropriate even as I slid down the hall, quiet as a mouse as I followed JC's voice toward the music room. He was speaking softly, so that I couldn't pick out the words until I was right at the doorway, pressed against it and watching his shadow on the wall so I would know if he started to leave the room.

"I feel like," he began, pausing, and I could tell immediately by his tone that this wasn't Chris. His voice, the pitch and the wince and the sound of other things I couldn't quite place, matched the way he had sounded the other day when I'd almost walked in on his phone call in Johnny's bathroom. The only difference was that was accidental and this was deliberate. "I feel like the only time you call, the only reason, is for."

His voice cut off, and I assumed that whoever was on the other end had broken in. The only reason was what? What?

"No, I'm sorry," he said quickly. "No, I, please don't say that to me. I didn't mean it like that. I just, yes, yes, I know. I know. I'm sorry. I said I was sorry. What do you mean I don't sound like, no, that's not fair. That's not, I was just trying to tell you how I feel. You asked what I was thinking, and that's it. I feel like the only time you call me is when she's gone."

She who? Oh my God!

I knew who was on the phone! All the pieces were there! Justin told me that JC's first boyfriend was a closeted bisexual who made him feel bad about himself, and he certainly sounded like he felt bad right now. He sounded tortured, and I wanted to say something to make him feel better, but then I'd have to tell him I was listening. This was the guy that JC had cheated on Justin with, that he still had contact with, and he was right here, on the phone!

"No, I guess I misunderstood," JC said quickly, sounding a little confused. "I, oh. I guess, I, you just want to hang out? I'm, I already said I was sorry. Please. I am. I didn't mean to, no, no, I wasn't saying you're, no. I know you're not like that. I know. No. No, you can't come over here."

He wanted to come over here? No, hell no! Justin would freak!

"I know that, but Justin's here," JC continued. "He moved back in last night, him and Chris both. No, not Kirkpatrick. Justin's new boyfriend, remember? I told you about him. No, he, I, no, we're not. Do we have to talk about this over the phone? I'd really rather not get into this."

I saw the shadow shift, and heard a footfall. JC was about to leave the music room! I raced back down the hall, almost tripping myself, and my feet actually slid across the floor as I lunged for my chair, wondering why I hadn't left it out. For a horrifying second I thought that I might slip and spill myself completely onto the floor, cracking my head open and making a complete ass out of myself, but somehow I made it into my seat as I heard JC pause in the hallway. Looking down with maybe two seconds to spare, I saw that my coffee cup was entirely too full for someone who had been sitting in the kitchen alone this whole time, and took a huge gulp. JC walked in just as I realized that the coffee was still pretty hot, and that my entire mouth was now on fire.

This had to be my karmic punishment for eavesdropping.

"Hi," JC said, running a hand through his hair, pushing the waves back from his face. "Thanks for getting the dishes."

"No problem," I rasped, doing my best to sound normal. My body had insisted on trying to spit all that coffee out, and instead I'd forced myself to swallow it, feeling it burn all the way down and into my stomach.

"I'm, uh," he began, shifting a little, uncomfortable. He smiled, suddenly, but it didn't seem the same, even if it looked exactly like the old one. Maybe it was because I knew that he was forcing it. So much of what I saw here was show, just like it had been at the photo shoot the other day. "I'm going to hang out with a friend for a while, so I guess you and Justin have the house to yourselves for the day."

"Oh, ok," I said, shrugging. "Maybe if you're back later, and you're not doing anything else, we could all have dinner together or something."

"Yeah," he answered noncommittally. "Maybe."

To be continued.