You rhapsodize about
And my eyes glaze
Everything I love is ugly
I mean really, you would be amazed
But please do me a favor
It's the least that you can do
Please don't treat me
Like something that has happened to you.
~Ani Difranco, "Adam and Eve"~
Lance pressed his face against the smooth wood paneling of the door. It was cool and hard against his face, against his body, and he could feel the doorknob digging into the soft flesh of his stomach. He didn't care. Right now he just wanted to be close to JC, in some capacity, even if he wasn't wanted.
Because JC sometimes got into these moods, where he would shut himself into his bedroom for days and just play, and write, and sing. He only came out to eat, but even that was rare, and when Lance tried to touch him he always shied away, like he was afraid Lance would corrupt him and his artistic soul, or something. His eyes would glare contemptuously at Lance, so business-minded, so uncreative, over the breakfast table.
Because Lance only managed artists, and even if he could sing-when given the fucking chance-and dance-reasonably well-the only things he wrote lately were contracts, and JC just hated that.
He'd called Lance sterile once, a motherfucking sterile-minded bastard, during a fight. But at the same time he called Justin, who was writing almost as much as him, a fucking talentless hack, because Justin got all the attention and all the adulation, and his songs were possibly better than JC's, if purely from a marketing point of view.
But when JC was in moods like this, he wasn't writing album stuff. It was just him and his stupid acoustic guitar, writing things that were melancholy, sometimes angry; songs all for himself. Sometimes he played songs that other people wrote, his gorgeous voice flowing through them like some sweet but acidic liquid, like vodka and orange juice.
Lance can see it in his head, JC's long fingers moving delicately over the strings of the guitar, his hands stroking the smooth wood, sweet lips mouthing the words to some poetic chick-rock song. JC likes Lilith Fair types, for no reason that Lance can think of, and sometimes he sings them for Lance. He likes songs that have meaning, he says, not that vapid shit that's on the radios nowadays.
Yeah, never mind that they're the vapid shit on the radio.
Right now, Lance can hear JC's voice moving through an Ani Difranco song, sounding like he's trying to attack it with his vocal cords. It is absolutely the wrong time to knock, but Lance just. Can't take it anymore. Its been three days, and he's going to go fucking insane if he doesn't see JC right fucking now.
Fuck this artist shit. Just, fuck it.
He pounds on the door while his head is still leaning against it, so he nearly falls into the room when JC pulls the door violently open, eyes blazing. "Fucking what?" he snarls, and Lance doesn't even know whether to be pissed off or not, because all he wants to do is see his fucking boyfriend, right? Without getting yelled at or having something thrown at him or any of that other temperamental artist bullshit. Because it has been going on forever, and at some point everything has to stop.
He takes a deep breath before he looks up at JC. Because he has seen those eyes angry before, has seen them hateful and dark and mean, and its not anything he's looking forward to. And when he looks up its that same look, that same look he sees everytime he tries to talk to JC lately, that 'you are beneath me' look.
"What?" JC snaps again, and Lance shoves him, shoves him right against the fucking door and kisses him, lips harsh and wet against JC's chapped ones. They haven't kissed in almost a week, and Lance has been going crazy, both of them sleeping in separate rooms and never even touching, all because every once in awhile JC gets it into his head to be a fucking bitch artist.
Its Lance who pulls away first, because Jayce is kissing him like he's fucking starved for it, and grinding against his thigh and flipping them around and pressing him, ooh, pressing him none too gently into the door, hand slipping down into the back of Lance's pants. When Lance pulls back he whimpers, Joshua fucking Chasez whimpers and pulls him close again and teases the edges of Lance's mouth with his tongue.
"What?" JC says yet again, but this time its different, softer, because JC is still trying to kiss him, still rubbing himself needily against Lance's thigh, and Lance just sighs and pulls him close again, hugging JC against him like he hasn't been able to do lately.
"When the fuck are you going to get that you need me, Jayce?" he asks, burying his face in JC's too-long hair. JC stiffens and sighs against him, but brings his arms up to hesitantly wrap around Lance's back.
"I do need you," JC says unconvincingly, and Lance makes a frustrated, disbelieving laughing sound, and JC pulls him in closer, tighter, almost wrapping his skinny body entirely around Lance. "No, I know, I do, its like." He pauses, and Lance can feel him breathing into Lance's ear. "You're like, my muse, or something. I just-can't be around you, sometimes. Because of it. It's too much. "
"Yeah, well you're a fucker about it," Lance whispers, and tries not to be touched by it.
Its too late, though, because JC is already touching him. He's wrapped so tightly around Lance that he knows that he won't be able to get free, even if he wanted to. And he knows that JC will pull this shit again, and again, and again, until something finally breaks, but until then, Lance has JC curled around him like an octopus. And he doesn't entirely want to get free.