"It doesn't mean we can't --"
"No, of course. Of course not. None of the rest of it -- there's no reason anything has to change."
*
They always had, and so even after it happened, they still did.
Joey slept with Marcie, this short Asian girl in a bright red skirt, who had small breasts with inverted nipples. JC slept with Janine, this lanky white girl with bony shoulders and a friend named Carly who had some pretty good pot. JC slept with Carly, too, who was less bony but bounced too much, so much JC actually kind of worried for a few minutes that he might, like, break off. But he was pretty sure, after, that that was just the pot talking.
They still talked about it, still told each other about the girls. Not everything, because that was just low-class, not even best friends needed to know that when Joey'd been fucking Marcie he'd licked the back of her knees and she'd giggled. JC didn't tell Joey that when he'd left Carly and Janine, they didn't really seem to notice, or that he thought maybe while he was really stoned he'd told one of them, he couldn't remember which, that they smelled like strawberries. Collectively, they had a strawberry thing going on.
*
It wasn't anything, so it didn't matter when the other guys came back from some mini-golf place in whereverthefuck an hour early and found Joey on his knees in front of JC. Lance looked kind of pale but he said it was just that Chris had made him eat a lot of sushi, like a lot, like more than everyone else combined. Joey wiped his mouth again and JC pulled a pillow over his lap and Justin looked scared and said, "Just, y'all aren't gonna be assholes about this, right?"
JC and Joey looked at each other and back at Justin. They weren't assholes. They were nice guys.
*
JC fucked this nice guy named Ned who he met at the ice machine in some hotel somewhere while everyone else was out clubbing. Joey fucked this guy named Anthony in the bathroom at some club. Ned had long black hair shot through with silver streaks and JC didn't tell Joey about how the silver hair above Ned's dick was coarser, heavier somehow. Anthony was on something, Joey didn't know what, except he didn't want Joey to wear a condom. Joey did anyway but he didn't tell JC about how Anthony wheezed when he came, hard like he was gonna have an asthma attack or something, and that Joey dumped the condom, zipped up and walked out. Joey thought he was probably a nicer guy than Anthony but he wasn't sure that was saying much.
*
They had always been like that, of all of them it was JC and Joey who did it more reliably, more often. And then after it happened, they maybe did it more. They were maybe trying to make a point, Joey thought, except he didn't like any of the options for what that point might be. JC thought it was kind of sweet how just because they were fucking didn't mean they needed to be together all the time or write little notes to each other or not laugh and tease each other during the show because someone might know what was going on. Because all that was going on was the same. Everything was the same.
*
Everything was the same, except at least a couple times a week, sometimes more, JC put his cheek on a pillow and his ass in the air and thought maybe nothing in his life mattered as much as Joey not waiting another goddamned minute before he just, just do it already, just fuck me, Joey, now, please, I'll do anything you want.
Joey wanted to know that when he didn't want to make nice, when he didn't find people as cute or funny or pretty as he usually did, that there was something to come back to. Not something, really, or even just someone, because everything was still the same. So JC was still JC, still stammering and flighty but then chiseled and demanding in all the right places at all the right, most unexpected moments.
*
They slept together, too, of course. They'd all done that anyway, all these years and personal space was the one thing no one talked about buying back, even when they could. They never fucked in the morning, though, unless they hadn't spent the night together, unless it started then.
Joey woke up once with JC's nose buried in his breastbone, breath fluttering against his chest hair. The hotel was expensive but the walls were still thin and he could hear Lance watching CNN on the other side. Joey had that achy, athletic morning-after feeling that he'd long since given up trying to associate with either performing or fucking. He eased out, took a long, hot shower and when he got out JC was gone.
JC woke up once with Joey's hand resting on his ass, the round callus from the edge of a drumstick scratchy in a sea of soft flesh. JC didn't know where they were, what city, where his own room was or if he'd ever even checked in there. Someone had probably unpacked his clothes and he kind of wanted his blue sweats to sleep in. He walked into the hall, his shirt in one hand, pants buttoned but not buckled, and bumped into Lance giving some guy the kiss-off in his doorway. Lance knew which room was his.
*
Lance and Chris watched Joey and JC hit on a total of five different girls and two guys in one night. Joey left with a tall fake redhead with breasts way too small for her big hips. JC left with a dirty blonde wearing a turquoise tube top, but Lance was pretty sure he'd seen some guy in a military-style buzz cut slip JC a piece of paper, too.
"Are they still?" Lance asked, and Chris nodded. Far as he knew, anyway. "So they just, what, brought out each other's inner flirt?"
Chris sucked down the last of his Red Bull and Absolut and shrugged. "Flirt, slut, to-may-to, sure. I think they're having some kind of, like, ho-down."
"Huh," Lance said. He swallowed flat, warm beer left untouched since the last time he'd forgotten it was flat and warm. He picked at the label and scrubbed his teeth with his tongue. "You think it's too late to get in on the pool?"
"Looking for some action?" Chris smirked, and Lance blushed before he caught himself.
"I meant --"
"Yup," Chris said. "But I don't think it's the kind of bet you win."
"Please," Lance said. "It's not like I don't know what kind of guys they are."
"Right," Chris said. "They're flirts. That's what's goin' on here, that's it exactly."
"Fuck you," Lance said, raising the bottle to his lips and then setting it down again without drinking.
"No," Chris said, slowly. "Then we'd be the other guys."
*
JC fucked Lance on a night when Kelly had flown out, Brianna and what looked to be like a year's worth of diapers in her arms. Actually he let Lance fuck him, because once upon a time before Lance'd gotten more sure of himself and what his life looked like, he'd been sure that was what he wanted more than anything. It was JC's dick but he wanted Lance to be in charge and Lance didn't really seem to have a problem with that. Lance kissed him on the forehead when they were done and let himself out.
Joey fucked Lance on a night when JC insisted on recalibrating the soundboard because sometimes perfect pitch was a curse, not a gift. Lance opened his door and said sure, let's watch a movie or something, and he only hesitated a minute when Joey pinned him to the bed and shoved his hand down Lance's pants. "Y'all know what you're doing?" he asked as Joey sat back on his heels, fumbling with the wrapper. Joey just kissed him, and when they were done, let himself out.
*
That same week, JC fucked a girl named Maria-Luisa, a boy named Gregory who when JC thought about it later was definitely not nineteen, probably not even eighteen, and some other guy he was pretty sure was named Peter. Joey fucked an Angela, a Tom and a Brenda, not at the same time but all in one night, and then he came back to the hotel and banged on JC's door, a little drunk, until JC opened it, wearing nothing light gray briefs. Down the hall, Justin opened his door and glared at them and then slammed it shut again.
*
It wasn't supposed to change anything, they were supposed to be past the point where things changed, anyway, all these years when they'd known each other, longer than anyone except JC and Justin. It wasn't like Joey and JC had been actual friends, not even work-friends like on MMC. They'd known each other but neither of them ever sat in interviews with actual stories of the good old days when they'd hung out or something and it wasn't because it was some private, secret memory either. They were just guys who knew some people in common, knew each other enough to nod if they ran into each other somewhere around town.
Joey woke JC up at five a.m. with his mouth on JC's dick, licking and tugging and when JC really actually woke up, like with his eyes open and his brain kind of working or as well as it could given the circumstances, he was already coming. He felt pretty caught by surprise.
"The thing is," Joey said, like he'd thought about it before all the extra sex they didn't usually have. Of course usually they started out the night together instead of finishing it up but JC was pretty sure they'd both done their thing already before Joey showed up. Joey sighed, his head on JC's stomach. "The thing is, what's so great about everything staying the same, anyway? I mean, having everything, it always being the same, we go out and we do the same thing and we come back here and we do this like we could take it or leave it."
JC rubbed Joey's neck on the side where it scrunched up under his chin. "I'm not going anywhere," JC said. If he closed his eyes he'd slide back into the dream he was having but the dream he was having was about Joey fucking him, about Joey up on his knees, slamming against him, into him, and JC's fingernails bent back from thinking sheets would offer enough resistance against his desperate pulls. If he closed his eyes there could be a hundred different faces of people he'd see but only one he'd want there when he woke up.
Joey sat up on an elbow and nudged his dick against JC's thigh until JC turned over. That was really the only point left worth making. They understood the rest.
*
Everything didn't change, except when they woke up again Joey said, "It doesn't mean we can't --"
"No, of course," JC said. "Of course not. None of the rest of it -- there's no reason everything has to change."
*
And the songbirds keep singing like they know the score
And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before
And I wish you all the love in the world
But most of all, I wish it from myself
END.
Credits: Fleetwood Mac (and Duncan Sheik). LaDi's barnburner. Beta by Lise & Kel. For Lesa, who thinks I get JC right.