Everything You Want
Jul. 6th, 2008 12:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
randomlingMy first entry (of three planned) for Jammin' July.
Summary: JC goes for what he wants.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
trumpeterofdoom for an awesome beta.
Forsolariana, who is stressed out.
Everything You Want
JC was bent over his guitar, his back a long, smooth curve. Lance couldn’t see JC’s face from here, but knew the exact expression he’d be wearing all the same: eyes half-closed, gnawing at his bottom lip, a single line forming between his eyebrows, the same mix of concentration and frustration Lance could see in the angle of his neck. He was sitting on the end of the bed in Lance’s smallest spare room, writing.
He was at his most beautiful like this, completely swallowed up by music, with no attention to spare for the outside world at all.
Lance had been standing in the doorway for a good five minutes, not wanting to disturb JC, listening to the song take shape. JC hadn’t gotten to lyrics yet, but he was humming a melody over the rippling chords drawn out of the guitar by his hands, slow and haunting. It had been just broken snatches at first - soaring high notes here, lower murmurs there - but JC was slowly stitching them together into a whole, and Lance was amazed at how it all flowed together. No lyrics yet, but lyrics weren’t necessary. Lance could already feel it all, though he couldn’t think of the word to describe it.
The mugs of coffee were cooling in his hands, but he didn’t care. He’d been so surprised and so pleased when JC had showed up a few hours before, carrying nothing but a guitar case and asking if he could hang. They’d spent most of the morning out in the garden, enjoying the spring air and talking about this and that - JC’s TV show, Kathy Griffin, everything the other guys were up to, bits of industry gossip. It had been nice, and then Lance had needed to get to a meeting. Now he was back, and JC had clearly been up here ever since.
JC’s voice was a little hoarse, and stuffed with emotion, but somehow that made it even more beautiful. Lance rested his head on the doorframe for just a moment and listened as JC came to the end of a phrase. It might have been the perfect moment to clear his throat, but JC drew breath and plunged on, into a new phrase that Lance thought would probably be the bridge.
Longing. That was it.
Lance wondered what the lyrics would turn out to be like, what particular hurt JC was writing about it. If Lance had to guess from the tune, he’d say it was something that was half-healed but still aching; there was disappointment in it, and stubborn hope, and affection sweet as honey. Lance wanted to find whoever had made JC feel this way and torture them very, very slowly.
Lance wasn’t sure where his desire to protect JC had come from, all of sudden, when all he could remember since being a kid was JC looking out for him. JC was the tough one, the one who always sat quietly by and had a solution for whatever the hell was going wrong. Right now, though, Lance felt like he was intruding on a private moment, seeing the soft underbelly exposed. He shouldn’t be here.
He shouldn’t be here at all.
***
Half an hour later, he was sitting at his kitchen table, leafing through the LA Times and drinking another coffee. It was pretty weird, and pretty cool, to have JC hanging out at his house and totally absorbed in his music. Just like old times.
It was even more like old times when JC appeared in the kitchen and went straight to the sink to pour his stone-cold coffee away. Lance caught JC’s eye and smiled. Nothing more needed to be said.
JC smiled too. “Thanks anyway, man.”
“Didn’t want to disturb you. You were in a world of your own.”
JC nodded, automatically washing out the mug. “Did you hear any?” he asked. Lance smiled again, because with most people that was a request for an ego-stroke, but with JC it was just idle curiosity.
“A little,” Lance said. “It’s nice. No lyrics yet?”
JC looked away and shook his head.
“Let me hear it when you’re done?” Lance asked.
JC said, “Of course.”
There was a long, long silence while JC finished washing out his mug, dried it, and put it away. Lance got to the back page of the Times and skim-read it, feeling acutely aware of JC moving lightly and carefully behind him to get to the crockery shelf. Then JC took a seat opposite Lance and folded his arms on the table. Lance looked up, and JC’s eyes looked very blue.
“You know,” JC said, “Chris says I should stop writing songs about the stuff that bothers me and, like, do something about it.”
Lance blinked. “Uh,” he said. “Um, sure, I guess.” JC was looking at him really intently. “Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?”
“I guess not,” JC said with a half-smile.
“Okay, good. Because I don’t have a clue.” And then, all of a sudden, he did, just a little. “Is this about the song you were writing upstairs?”
“Yeah,” JC said.
Lance reached out and put a hand on JC’s forearm, remembering the yearning in JC’s voice that had made his heart ache in sympathy, and JC twitched a little, his gaze dropping suddenly to where Lance was touching him. Lance frowned a little, and said, “Something I can do?” He had that same feeling again, of seeing a private, vulnerable side of JC, one he didn’t show often even to his closest friends. It felt strange all over again, like he was stepping unwanted into a secret place. But JC had opened it up this time.
“Maybe,” JC said. “I don’t know.” He moved his arm so that he could tentatively take Lance’s hand. Lance blinked, but didn’t let go. “You know, Chris also said that last time I tried to tell you something, we finished up with Space Cowboy, and that didn’t work out well for anyone.”
JC grinned, and Lance snorted with laughter before the thought of that brought him up short. “Space Cowboy? That was... That was, what, your love song to me?” Lance couldn’t help it: he burst out laughing, bending forward over the table, because that was just too bizarre. JC’s hand was very warm in his.
“Yeah,” said JC. He was laughing too. Lance stopped suddenly, because as funny as it was that Space Cowboy was a love song to anyone, that was...
“That was eight years ago,” Lance pointed out soberly.
JC nodded.
“That long?”
“That long,” JC said.
He squeezed Lance’s hand, and it was Lance’s turn to glance down at where they were touching. He thought of the longing and the sadness in JC’s singing voice, and said, “You should’ve told me.”
“That’s what Chris said.”
“He was right.”
Lance let go of JC’s hand long enough to get up and then pull JC to his feet. He wrapped his arms around JC’s neck, and whispered in his ear, “Please don’t make me say something about taking a ride.”
JC giggled, putting his arms around Lance’s waist, and burying his face in Lance’s neck. He gave a little sigh, and this time Lance felt he was being pulled into the private place that JC kept so well-guarded. Maybe this was the place where he belonged.
“Come to me,” JC said instead.
With JC’s voice low and urgent against Lance’s neck, and JC’s arms tight around his waist, Lance sure didn’t feel like JC was carrying on the song lyrics joke. It felt like a command. All the same, Lance did wonder for just a second. Hell, was that one about him, too?
He filed that one away under things to ask later, and said the only thing he could think of, which was, “I’m already here.”
Summary: JC goes for what he wants.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Thank you to
trumpeterofdoom for an awesome beta.For
solariana, who is stressed out.Everything You Want
JC was bent over his guitar, his back a long, smooth curve. Lance couldn’t see JC’s face from here, but knew the exact expression he’d be wearing all the same: eyes half-closed, gnawing at his bottom lip, a single line forming between his eyebrows, the same mix of concentration and frustration Lance could see in the angle of his neck. He was sitting on the end of the bed in Lance’s smallest spare room, writing.
He was at his most beautiful like this, completely swallowed up by music, with no attention to spare for the outside world at all.
Lance had been standing in the doorway for a good five minutes, not wanting to disturb JC, listening to the song take shape. JC hadn’t gotten to lyrics yet, but he was humming a melody over the rippling chords drawn out of the guitar by his hands, slow and haunting. It had been just broken snatches at first - soaring high notes here, lower murmurs there - but JC was slowly stitching them together into a whole, and Lance was amazed at how it all flowed together. No lyrics yet, but lyrics weren’t necessary. Lance could already feel it all, though he couldn’t think of the word to describe it.
The mugs of coffee were cooling in his hands, but he didn’t care. He’d been so surprised and so pleased when JC had showed up a few hours before, carrying nothing but a guitar case and asking if he could hang. They’d spent most of the morning out in the garden, enjoying the spring air and talking about this and that - JC’s TV show, Kathy Griffin, everything the other guys were up to, bits of industry gossip. It had been nice, and then Lance had needed to get to a meeting. Now he was back, and JC had clearly been up here ever since.
JC’s voice was a little hoarse, and stuffed with emotion, but somehow that made it even more beautiful. Lance rested his head on the doorframe for just a moment and listened as JC came to the end of a phrase. It might have been the perfect moment to clear his throat, but JC drew breath and plunged on, into a new phrase that Lance thought would probably be the bridge.
Longing. That was it.
Lance wondered what the lyrics would turn out to be like, what particular hurt JC was writing about it. If Lance had to guess from the tune, he’d say it was something that was half-healed but still aching; there was disappointment in it, and stubborn hope, and affection sweet as honey. Lance wanted to find whoever had made JC feel this way and torture them very, very slowly.
Lance wasn’t sure where his desire to protect JC had come from, all of sudden, when all he could remember since being a kid was JC looking out for him. JC was the tough one, the one who always sat quietly by and had a solution for whatever the hell was going wrong. Right now, though, Lance felt like he was intruding on a private moment, seeing the soft underbelly exposed. He shouldn’t be here.
He shouldn’t be here at all.
***
Half an hour later, he was sitting at his kitchen table, leafing through the LA Times and drinking another coffee. It was pretty weird, and pretty cool, to have JC hanging out at his house and totally absorbed in his music. Just like old times.
It was even more like old times when JC appeared in the kitchen and went straight to the sink to pour his stone-cold coffee away. Lance caught JC’s eye and smiled. Nothing more needed to be said.
JC smiled too. “Thanks anyway, man.”
“Didn’t want to disturb you. You were in a world of your own.”
JC nodded, automatically washing out the mug. “Did you hear any?” he asked. Lance smiled again, because with most people that was a request for an ego-stroke, but with JC it was just idle curiosity.
“A little,” Lance said. “It’s nice. No lyrics yet?”
JC looked away and shook his head.
“Let me hear it when you’re done?” Lance asked.
JC said, “Of course.”
There was a long, long silence while JC finished washing out his mug, dried it, and put it away. Lance got to the back page of the Times and skim-read it, feeling acutely aware of JC moving lightly and carefully behind him to get to the crockery shelf. Then JC took a seat opposite Lance and folded his arms on the table. Lance looked up, and JC’s eyes looked very blue.
“You know,” JC said, “Chris says I should stop writing songs about the stuff that bothers me and, like, do something about it.”
Lance blinked. “Uh,” he said. “Um, sure, I guess.” JC was looking at him really intently. “Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?”
“I guess not,” JC said with a half-smile.
“Okay, good. Because I don’t have a clue.” And then, all of a sudden, he did, just a little. “Is this about the song you were writing upstairs?”
“Yeah,” JC said.
Lance reached out and put a hand on JC’s forearm, remembering the yearning in JC’s voice that had made his heart ache in sympathy, and JC twitched a little, his gaze dropping suddenly to where Lance was touching him. Lance frowned a little, and said, “Something I can do?” He had that same feeling again, of seeing a private, vulnerable side of JC, one he didn’t show often even to his closest friends. It felt strange all over again, like he was stepping unwanted into a secret place. But JC had opened it up this time.
“Maybe,” JC said. “I don’t know.” He moved his arm so that he could tentatively take Lance’s hand. Lance blinked, but didn’t let go. “You know, Chris also said that last time I tried to tell you something, we finished up with Space Cowboy, and that didn’t work out well for anyone.”
JC grinned, and Lance snorted with laughter before the thought of that brought him up short. “Space Cowboy? That was... That was, what, your love song to me?” Lance couldn’t help it: he burst out laughing, bending forward over the table, because that was just too bizarre. JC’s hand was very warm in his.
“Yeah,” said JC. He was laughing too. Lance stopped suddenly, because as funny as it was that Space Cowboy was a love song to anyone, that was...
“That was eight years ago,” Lance pointed out soberly.
JC nodded.
“That long?”
“That long,” JC said.
He squeezed Lance’s hand, and it was Lance’s turn to glance down at where they were touching. He thought of the longing and the sadness in JC’s singing voice, and said, “You should’ve told me.”
“That’s what Chris said.”
“He was right.”
Lance let go of JC’s hand long enough to get up and then pull JC to his feet. He wrapped his arms around JC’s neck, and whispered in his ear, “Please don’t make me say something about taking a ride.”
JC giggled, putting his arms around Lance’s waist, and burying his face in Lance’s neck. He gave a little sigh, and this time Lance felt he was being pulled into the private place that JC kept so well-guarded. Maybe this was the place where he belonged.
“Come to me,” JC said instead.
With JC’s voice low and urgent against Lance’s neck, and JC’s arms tight around his waist, Lance sure didn’t feel like JC was carrying on the song lyrics joke. It felt like a command. All the same, Lance did wonder for just a second. Hell, was that one about him, too?
He filed that one away under things to ask later, and said the only thing he could think of, which was, “I’m already here.”
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Date: 2008-10-13 09:59 pm (UTC)And I'm glad you liked that line. You can thank