Okay, this is it: the last chapter in this arc. Let me know if you want me to go on. I think there's more to tell, but I need to know if it matters. Denis114@hotmail.com
DEDICATION: For Dezi, because she's wanted this chapter most of all, and for Aaron (again and always).
DISCLAIMER: I don't know any member NSYNC, and this story, well, I made the whole damn thing up. Yeah, and one more thing, this story has sex in it (although not as much as some would like), so, if that's not your thing, or if you ain't old enough, you should stop reading now.
ALONE/TOGETHER
CHAPTER 13: Where We Started.
We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.
-- T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding.
JC had not realized - not until today - that you could see the bridge from the window in Lance's office upstairs. He had to stand on a chair to see it over the two black cottonwood trees that would have otherwise blocked his view, but he could see the bridge easily now, and he could see Lance just standing there in the middle of it, in his bare feet, letting the rain fall on him, and not moving at all, just standing there, like a statue. JC let the curtain slip from his hand, and fall softly back into place across the window, and then he stepped off the chair. It had been 77 days since JC had last been home, and 254 days since he'd last seen Lance. Today was the day he could stop counting days.
JC's flight had arrived in San Diego several hours ago, and he'd taken a taxi from the airport back to the house. After letting himself in with the key he'd hid under a rock near the front door, behind the pot of golden yarrow and wild rose, JC had put down his backpack and then made his way through the house, moving from room to room. JC had known that Lance wasn't there, and he wasn't looking for him, or looking for anything at all; he had just wanted to see everything again, and touch everything again, like a blind man seeking a clue to his whereabouts in the feel of familiar objects.
The guestroom where Lance had obviously been staying was the last room that JC had entered. It was the smallest of the three guestrooms, but it had its own bathroom, and view of the ocean. The bed was not made when JC had found it, and he'd crawled into it and clutched one of the pillows to his chest, breathing in the soft sweet smell of Lance's cologne, Antaeus by Chanel, and the sharp-stinging smell of Lance's sweat. JC could easily have fallen asleep there, imagining that it was Lance he was holding, and not just a pillow. But JC had forced himself to stay awake, resisting the tug of fatigue, and the deceitful pleas of his mind telling him, Close your eyes, just for a minute, just for a minute, it'll be okay, just close your eyes. Finally, JC had got up and gone upstairs and stood on the chair in Lance's office to watch for his return, and to wait.
Lance had to set the two Academy Awards on the doorstep so that he could dig in his pocket for the key he needed to open the front door. After unlocking it, Lance pushed the door open with his left foot and then quickly picked up the two awards and went into the house. Lance walked quickly across the foyer to the kitchen, leaving a long trail of wet footprints on the gray slate floor. Lance's arms ached from carrying the Awards and he was eager to set them somewhere. He knew he'd need to decide on a proper place for their display, but for now the kitchen counter would have to do.
"You're all wet," JC said, walking up behind Lance, holding out a towel.
Hearing JC's voice, Lance gasped and spun around so quickly his wet feet slipped out from under him and he nearly fell to the floor. JC dropped the towel he was holding and instinctively stepped forward, grabbing hold of Lance's arm as he staggered and tried to regain his balance. Lance finally steadied himself with one hand on the counter and the other one gripping the ragged bottom edge of JC's sweatshirt.
"You're...back," Lance said, staring at JC. "You're..."
"Back," JC said softly, completing Lance's sentence.
"When?"
"A few hours ago," JC said, his voice barely a whisper.
"Have you slept?" Lance asked.
"No."
"You look tired," Lance said, scrunching his face in a look of concern.
"Yeah, I am," JC said. "And you're wet."
"Soaked, actually."
Saying this, Lance tugged twice on the edge of JC's sweatshirt, and pulled JC closer, and up next to him, pushing off from the counter as he did so, and putting his now free hand on JC's shoulder, and then his neck, which was warm and smooth and faintly-flushed. JC still held on to Lance's arm, and he pulled Lance closer too, close enough so their two chests pressed together as each of them inhaled deeply, conscious of each breath, as if it was suddenly necessary to think about breathing for it to occur.
"Where were you?" Lance asked, watching the slow-quick blinking of JC's eyes.
"Barcelona," JC said, looking down.
"You love Gaudi," Lance said. "I should have known."
"Yeah," JC said, looking back at Lance, and shrugging his shoulders. "Gaudi."
Lance leaned forward, tilting his head to the right, and kissed JC, softly, allowing his lips to linger for only a few seconds, not wanting to seem greedy or pushy, and so pulling his head back when the kiss was done.
"I've never been there," Lance said. "Barcelona."
"It's nice," JC said. "You'd like it."
"Maybe we should go sometime," Lance said, smiling slightly, trying to decide whether to kiss JC again, or to wait, even though he didn't think he could wait.
JC took his hand off Lance's arm and pointed to one of the Academy Awards. He'd not noticed it before.
"So you won?" JC asked.
"Yeah," Lance said, blushing. "Best actor. Can you believe that?"
"Of course I can," JC said, returning his hand to Lance's arm and squeezing it.
"You won too," Lance said, leaning closer to JC and gently butting JC's nose with the top of his forehead.
"I did?" JC said, surprised. "For the song?"
"No, for Best Actress," Lance said, laughing, and liking the feel of it, the laughter, laughing with JC. "You are such a dork, Josh."
JC laughed too now, and pulled Lance toward him, burying his face in the crook of Lance's neck, nuzzling it, and not minding how it made his face wet and cold.
"You really are soaked," JC said, finally pulling his face back from where it had been nestled, and wiping it with the back of his sweatshirt sleeve.
"Come on then," Lance said, slipping an arm around JC's shoulders, and guiding him out of the kitchen. "Help me find something dry to put on."
Lance and JC walked slowly across the foyer, taking small careful steps on the slick slate floor. JC's hands were clasped inside the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt, his fingers knotted together and still slightly wet. The house was filled with the sound of the wind outside, and noise of the trees brushing against the house, and the sharp tattoo of the rain hitting the house's metal roof.
"Is that yours," Lance asked, pointing to the backpack that leaned against the balustrade at the bottom of the stairs.
"Yeah," JC said.
"Can I carry it for you," Lance asked, slowly to a stop and turning to look at JC.
"If you want," JC said.
"Okay. Good."
Lance picked the backpack off the floor and slung it over his right shoulder.
"You coming," Lance said, extending his hand to JC.
"Yeah," JC said, taking Lance's hand and starting up the stairs with him.
Halfway up the stairs, Lance stopped and turned to JC, looking serious and almost afraid.
"What?" JC said, pulling his hand away from Lance and taking a small step back.
"Before we go up," Lance said, speaking slowly, and in tone lower than before. "I need to ask you something, something important."
"Okay," JC said, his voice wavering now, and uncertain.
Lance paused and looked down for what seemed to JC to be a very long time. JC could feel his heart pounding, and his chest tighten. He stared at the top of Lance's head, waiting for him to look up again, and then he did, Lance stared at JC, almost scowling, and then he began to speak.
"What's the password?" Lance said, trying hard not to laugh, but failing.
JC heard Lance start laughing before he heard the question; it was as if time had hiccupped and for a moment run in reverse. But when JC finally heard it, the question, and the loud laughter, he laughed too, laughed and poked Lance hard in the stomach, and then kissed him, harder than the poke, and twice as long. Pulling back from the kiss, but not letting go of Lance, because he was holding him tighter still, JC pressed his mouth against Lance's ear and whispered: "I love you Lance."
JC could feel Lance holding him now more tightly than before, holding him and seeming to cry too, deep shivering sobs that JC joined in, holding Lance more tightly than before, maybe than ever. And the two of them stood there for five minutes at least, holding each other and crying, while the rain fell on a house, unnoticed, until they finally started to move again, in unison up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom where Lance put down JC's backpack, and turned to him.
"Come on," JC said, pulling Lance's t-shirt over his head. "Let's get this off you."
"Yeah," Lance said, sniffling, and then rubbing JC's cheek with his hand and JC's chin, and down his neck, and resting his hand there on JC's shoulder, and squeezing it. "I need a tissue though."
JC went into the bathroom and grabbed the box of tissues that sat on the counter.
"Do you want to take a shower," JC asked from inside the bathroom, waiting to see what Lance wanted to do. "Or maybe just get some sleep."
"I think sleep would be good," Lance said, watching JC walk toward him, the box of tissues in his hand.
Lance took several of the tissues and blew his nose into them.
"Here," JC said, holding out his hand. "I'll throw those away for you."
"Thanks," Lance said, handing JC the crumpled tissues and sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing each thigh as he did so.
"Are your legs sore?" JC asked.
"Yeah, but I don't know why," Lance said, watching JC walk into the bathroom, throw away the tissues he'd just used, and then return and stand before him. "Probably from standing around so much at all the parties after the show."
"You could take a bath," JC said, running his fingers through Lance's hair.
"No," Lance said, looking up at JC. "Let's just sleep, okay?"
"That would be good," JC said.
JC pulled his sweatshirt up over his head, and his t-shirt pulled off with it. Lance reached out and put his hand on JC's now bare stomach, as if wanting to make sure it was real and not imagined. JC put both of his hands on top of Lance's hand, pressing down on it, liking the feel of it there and not wanting Lance to pull it away. Standing up slowly, feeling tight pain in his legs, Lance leaned forward and kissed JC again, a simple almost embarrassed kiss, like two teenagers after a first date. Lance pulled back from the kiss and freed his hand from where JC held it against his stomach and then unbuttoned JC's jeans.
"You can't sleep in these," Lance said.
"No," JC said, looking down and watching Lance carefully unbutton his jeans and then start to push them down his thighs, his boxer brief sliding with them.
JC steadied himself by putting his hands on Lance's shoulders as Lance bent over, pushing the jeans and the boxer briefs down around his ankles. Lance's back was deeply tanned and the skin there warmed JC's hand; he wanted to kiss it, and then he did.
"Come on, step out now," Lance said, still bent over, and his wet hair tickling the head of JC's penis.
"Sorry," JC said, laughing as he stepped out of his jeans.
"What?" Lance asked, straightening up and seeing JC still laughing.
"It's nothing," JC said. "You just tickled me."
"Oh," Lance said, shrugging. "Sorry."
"It's okay," JC said, kissing Lance's nose and then watching Lance pull off his jeans, and then his boxer shorts too, so that he was naked now too.
"Come here," Lance said, holding his hands out to JC.
JC stepped toward Lance and made the distance that separated them disappear.
"I love you," Lance said, feeling JC tremble in his embrace. "Are you cold?"
"No," JC said, whispering into Lance's shoulder, as if he was speaking to his skin. "Or maybe just a little."
"Do you want to get in bed?"
"Yeah," JC said, pulling back from Lance a little, and looking into his eyes.
"Okay," Lance said. "But I want you to do something first."
"Okay," JC said, still looking at Lance, and then watching him remove the chain from around his neck.
"Here," Lance said, handing the chain to JC.
JC took the chain from Lance, unsure at first what he was supposed to do with it, but then knowing. Lance stared at JC as he fumbled with the clasp, almost taking it back so that he could open it himself, but wanting JC to do it. It took several tries because JC's fingers were trembling, and the clasp on the chain seemed improbably small, but then it finally opened and JC slid Lance's ring off the chain.
"Come here," JC said, dropping the chain on the floor.
Lance held out his hand and JC slipped the ring back on Lance's finger.
"Thank you," Lance said, kissing the ring and then JC.
"You're welcome," JC said.
"Shall we go to bed now?" Lance said.
"Yeah," JC said.
Lance let go of JC's hand and walked over and turned out the light. JC climbed into bed, and Lance climbed in after him, pulling the sheet and the duvet over the top of their shoulders. JC turned to Lance, and Lance turned to JC, and together they embraced. Then Lance lay his head on JC's chest, and listened to JC's heart beat, and felt the gentle rise and fall of JC's breathing, and the touch of JC's fingers against Lance's lips, warmed by Lance's breath, and still moist with the kiss he'd just placed there. Lance was tired, and he needed sleep; but sleep was all he needed, because now he needed nothing else, nothing else at all. He and JC were alone together, and not just alone; and the sound of JC breathing was the most beautiful song he'd ever heard.