"So, who's the biggest liar?" - Jay Leno, July 23, 2001

Lance thought that he probably hated touring at the moment. He definitely and unequivocally knew that he hated being on the bus.

Joey had abandoned ship with a happy wave of his hand, and an "I'm off to join the fun bus now." Chris had slumped on board, stomped to the back, not saying a word when Lance looked up from his computer.

Chris was sulky. Lance could tell by the way his lips were pressed together and the way he glared at nothing. The tight black clothes and dark sunglasses were another clue, one that Lance had no intention of ignoring, because Chris in a snit was acerbic and brutal.

So Lance went back to his laptop, and tried to write a long overdue email to one of his good friends from home. As a distraction tactic, it worked beautifully until a pillow went flying past his head.

"The clicking was annoying me." And Chris turned away, focusing on nothing again.

Lance turned back to the keyboard, but he didn't really want to. It was easy enough to pick up the pillow and really whip it at Chris. Still, Lance was as shocked as Chris when the pillow thudded into the side of Chris's face, knocking his sunglasses off and making him rock backwards.

Lance stood back from the table, hand flying to his mouth, as Chris vaulted to his feet.

"I didn't. I didn't mean to."

Chris folded his arms, staring at Lance. "Yeah. Well, you did." Advancing, almost predatorily, "You prepared to pay the price?"

"Back up, man. I was just kidding. And..."

Chris pounced, wailing "No mercy" in a piercing shriek. Fingers skated along Lance's sides, and he sat down hard on the floor, Chris climbing on top of him and tickling until Lance was begging for mercy.

"Give? Do you give?"

Lance nodded, breathless from laughing and heartened to see the look of maniacal amusement had taken the place of Chris's sulks. He was still whimpery, when Chris leaned down and hugged him before bouncing to his feet.

"I needed that."

Lance pulled himself up and couldn't help smiling.

Two nights later, Lance was walking backstage, lost in his thoughts, plotting out his next conference call. He was trailing his arm along the broken concrete, idly thinking that maybe the air conditioning was a little cold, when suddenly he had a whole armful of Chris.

An arm wound around his neck, legs swung over his automatically outstretched hand. Lance cursed instinctive stage training, just as Chris grabbed his bicep and squeezed. Brown eyes looked into Lance's, eyelashes blinking coyly.

Chris's arms clutched tighter, as he leaned in, hugging Lance with one arm. His cheek snuggled against Lance's, as Chris licked Lance's ear, tongue darting lewdly, his hand coming up to stroke the soft bristles along Lance's chin.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lance promptly dropped his armful, inexplicably charmed and terrified.

"Checking to see if you've been lifting." And Chris was gone, chasing after Justin, leaving a bemused Lance to stare after him.

The next attack came the following morning at breakfast. Joey and Lance had their heads together, debating the relative merits of Kevin Smith movies, when suddenly Chris was sitting in Lance's lap, straddling him.

"Hey baby. Miss me?"

Joey's mouth dropped open as Chris threw his arms around Lance, hugging him, until his back cracked. Chris starting running his hands up and down Lance's back, while Joey laughed. Lance wiggled, trying to dislodge Chris, maybe not as hard as he should have, but everything was okay, until Lance shifted forward and Chris reached a hand underneath his butt and squeezed.

Lance's "Oh my god, Chris" was in a higher octave than he remembered speaking in, since his voice changed, back in middle school. He finally succeeded in dumping Chris on the floor, scooting the chair back and just gaping.

"Lance, honey. You've got me on my knees." And Chris laughed hysterically, bubbles of laughter leaking out, while Lance sincerely thanked god that he was wearing baggy pants.

Lance was on edge for the next couple days, waiting for the next stealth hug attack. When it didn't come, he stopped checking for Chris on his peripheral vision. He stopped monitoring Chris's whereabouts, stopped meeting Chris's eyes and looking down when Chris grinned at him.

It wasn't until a week later, when Lance was tired and discouraged from a long day of fruitless phone calls and emails and slumped into the couch, that Chris struck again. Lance was wishing for a nap, anything to quiet the racing of his mind, and praying that no one would want to talk to him before that night's show. Chris didn't say a word.

He was just suddenly there, solid and warm and comforting. Lance leaned into the hug, felt soft hands card through his hair and trace down his back, outlining his spine until he melted into the couch. The moments dragged on, and Lance breathed in the fabric softener of Chris's shirt, the citrus of his shampoo and the spice of whatever aftershave was the scent du jour. He didn't even think to pull back, until the lightest kiss was brushed along his jawline.

He didn't knew what to say when he saw Chris's eyes, wide and almost wise. Chris shook his head and patted him, not quite a pet, and not quite a cuff, but something in between and walked away, as silently as he'd shown up.

And Lance slid down into a nap, his mind almost quieted.

That night was another smokey club, not quite a dive and not quite trendy. It was one of a thousand clubs exactly like it, but Lance was happy enough there. He had his glass of jack and coke, and his bench in an alcove to sit in, and his friends to watch.

Time moved stickily slowly until Chris came back, flushed and laughing and clearly more than a little drunk. Lance grinned and slid over, gulping the last of his drink.

"You're all sweaty and gross." Lance made a face of laughing disgust. Chris moved even closer, draping a moist arm over Lance's shoulders. Lance shoved and Chris laughed up at him, and suddenly Lance was kissing Chris, hot and open mouthed, no preliminaries, no questions and no real gentleness.

Lance leaned in, arms wrapping around Chris, not caring that they were in the middle of a club, forgetting about everything except the hot slide of their mouths, the rasp of Chris's beard against his tongue. Chris was kissing him back, and it was even better than the best hug, and Lance finally knew what he'd been looking for.

Then he was the one landing on his ass, sparkles of pain jolting from his tailbone, and Chris standing there looking shocked, like Lance had just punched him in the stomach instead of kissing him. Lance was opening his mouth to apologize, to say that he didn't mean to. He'd say anything to make that awful bruised look around Chris's eyes go away.

Until Chris leaned down, almost spitting his words out. "Don't lie to me."

And he was gone, shoving through the crowd, disappearing before Lance could haul himself to his feet and follow.

It took too many minutes before Lance could extricate himself from the club, tracking down JC, Joey and Justin at opposite corners, telling them that he and Chris were leaving. It felt like it took hours before Lance found his way back to the hotel and to Chris's room.

When he knocked, and no one answered, Lance felt no compunctions about using his master keycard, thanking god that it was his turn to be responsible. The room was dark, and he thought that maybe Chris was gone or didn't come back, until his eyes adjusted and he made out Chris sprawled out on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"I didn't answer the door for a reason, you know."

Lance barely recognized Chris's voice through the weariness and sarcasm.

"I know. I just. I just don't understand." Lance walked over to the bed, and sat down next to Chris, wishing that he could just lean in and be hugged. Not quite doing the hugging, but getting the hug. Knowing what was allowed and not allowed, and maybe some of the misery showed on his face, because Chris sat up.

"You don't have to lie to me." And Chris's voice was gentler now, but every bit as final.

"But I."

"You liked Justin's cereal, Joey's movie, JC's music. You don't have to pretend that you like me."

"I don't. I wouldn't." Lance didn't know what to say, and he suddenly wished that he'd tried to explain the other times, rather than just letting things be half forgotten.

"Lance, I like you. Really. But if you could, just... Go. The. Fuck. Away. We can act tomorrow like it didn't happen, just like we did all the other times."

Lance turned to go away, unable to explain, again, but something glittered in Chris's eyes. And Lance moved back, slowly and deliberately, sitting beside an uncharacteristically silent Chris.

This time, when Lance kissed Chris, it was with gentleness, nipping at his lip, licking at his mouth. When Chris finally responded, it was like a triumph, and when they were finally sprawled out on the bed, wrapped up in each other, Lance thought maybe that if he'd known the way Chris tasted and licked and murmured under his hands and his mouth, he'd have started hugging him sooner.

He drew back, making sure Chris's eyes caught his.

"I may have acted stupidly, even though I never intended to. But I'm not anyone's whore. I just, I didn't know."

When Chris nodded, Lance stopped caring about thinking, and started caring about what Chris's collarbone and nipples and navel tasted like. After Chris flipped him over, and Lance discovered how sharp his teeth were and how his hands knew just where and how to wander, that was really all that was left to care about.

The next morning, Lance woke Chris up, just before he left to go downstairs and have breakfast. When Chris sat up and grabbed him, morning beard scratching against Lance's face, and didn't seem to care about morning breath or anything other than snuggling up into Lance's personal space, he knew things were going to be okay.

Justin was obnoxiously perky over his Applejacks, smirking over his cereal at Lance, whispering to JC and Joey and pointing. Lance sat down, grabbing a cup of coffee and smirking.

Joey grinned at Lance.

"Good night, last night, eh? Left a little early?"

"Not bad."

"Yeah, well, uh, who gave you the hickeys?"

Lance took a moment, looking around with his most innocent, wicked look. "Chris."

Justin blurted out, "Liar." JC rolled his eyes.

Lance just smiled.

~end~