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suite: justin blue eyes
by tiffany rawlins

This is a present for my co-Tiff, cause she got me this far. There's no way I'm cute enough to pull this off on my own. Happy holidays, my dear. These are a few of your favorite things, and this OTP's for you. Lamblove 4eva!

 

I.

Don't let the past remind us
Of what we are not now
I am not dreaming
I am yours, you are mine
You are what you are

Three of the girls Lance knew in Clinton dropped out of college to get married. Two others never went because their boyfriends joined the military to get out of Clinton and the girls went, too, usually pregnant, got married and lived on the base. Four girls in what would have been his graduating class didn't get to walk across the stage because they were in their third trimester.

Lance's mom still calls with these stories like Lance needs the warning, like he's gonna knock up some German girl if he's not scared silly.

He gets up with the sun and watches Justin sleep beside him, bleached blonde curls crushed and bent at strange angles, dark eyelashes lying still against his pretty face. Justin is pretty and he's naked in Lance's bed as the sun comes up, and Lance hates all those nice girls he knew back before he met Justin because they make him think he's too young to fall in love for real.

 

II.

I've got an answer
I'm going to fly away
What have I got to lose
Will you come see me
Thursdays and Saturdays
What have you got to lose

Lance doesn't think it's possible to hate anyone as much as he hates Lou or love anyone as much as he loves Justin. It was quiet in the hospital. Not silent, but there was no screaming. There was no steady thrum of bus wheels on pavement. There was no light snoring from the body tucked under his arm. It was too quiet, and he thought too much about what was missing.

"I could just run away," he says to Justin, kissing him. The bar is so much louder than anything Lance has heard in weeks, even in the bathroom. Justin breathing heavy in his ear is like a tornado, and Lance thinks if they're lucky when they open the door they'll be in some Technicolor dream.

"Could you take me with you?" Justin says. "Cause, if the answer's no, you know there's no way I'd let you go. It'd be you trying to walk out the door and I'd be, like, hangin' on your leg."

Lance grips Justin's thigh and Justin moans like a crashing wave and loops his arms around Lance's neck. Lance puts his hands on Justin's ass and lifts him up against the wall. "Not going anywhere without you," he mumbles into Justin's neck, and Justin wraps his legs around Lance's waist and even though they have to stop to pull their pants down and do it all again it's perfect.

"This should be illegal it's so --" Lance thrusts in and Justin grunts mid-sentence. "Yeah, oh baby," Justin says instead of finishing the thought, hands through Lance's hair. "Jesus, just like that."

"Where are we?" Lance groans.

"We're in a bar."

"I know, I mean, ohh." Lance bites his lip. "What state?"

Justin's eyes are screwed shut and he's pulling himself up on Lance's neck with each push and he laughs. "I don't know, man, somewhere, I think we're still in the South."

Lance counts to ten so he doesn't come yet and then brings his mouth back to Justin's ear. "It probably is illegal, then," he says, "especially if you factor in, you know, uh --" Justin is pushing down on him and whimpering and Lance forgets about the rest, stops counting, stops thinking, slams his hips up and into Justin until Justin screams and Lance teeters on the edge and then falls, face buried in Justin's shoulder, and he thinks maybe he's crying because Justin's shirt is soaked and it doesn't feel like sweat.

"The public sex part?" Justin asks.

"Huh?" Lance leans the full weight of their bodies against the wall.

"If you factor in where we're having sex, there's no way that was legal." Justin isn't even out of fucking breath, he's like a goddamned racehorse and Lance knows Justin'll still want to fuck when they get back to the hotel.

"Jailbait," he whispers, lowering Justin to his feet.

"You know it, baby," Justin says, licking his lips.

 

III.

Lacy lilting lyric
Losing love lamenting
Change my life, make it right

"I won't sing this one on stage," Justin says, head down.

Joey genuinely wants to know why and Chris is whining just to annoy Justin and finally JC tells them all to be quiet and listen cause Justin must have a reason.

"Because it's not -- it's not like that." Justin's big blue eyes are watery when he looks at Lance. "I didn't mean it like that, and I can't, you can't make me get up there and sing it like it means, I don't know." He stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Shit, I don't know."

"It's okay, J," Lance says softly. "It's a good song."

It is. It's a beautiful heartbreaking operetta of a song, soaring and tumbling and now because they've made up Justin's convinced he got it all wrong. It's not wrong, Lance knows, it's just that Justin wrote the song to undo things, not relive them. But Johnny heard Justin in the studio recording it for Lance and wants it for the tour.

"It is good," JC agrees, nodding sincerely. Justin doesn't need that assurance, Lance thinks. Justin knows it's good because it worked. It got Lance back.

"But, I mean," Justin sighs heavily. "Then, there's, like, a fucking video concept, and choreography, and people sing along like they know what I meant, and, just, no, okay?" He's not throwing a tantrum. He hasn't raised his voice since he handed Lance the tape and a card with six handwritten words that Lance repeats to himself like a prayer and would never ever ever tell another person. That much they get just for themselves.

Lance reaches out his hand to Justin across the conference table. "It's your decision," Lance says.

Justin squeezes Lance's fingers and sighs again. "You can put it on the album, but I won't do it live. Okay?"

They say okay and later, when Justin's kissing like a feather across Lance's stomach, Lance says thank you.

 

IV.

Cielo sol no tiene sangreahi,
y que triste que no puedo vaya

The sunny sky has no blood
And how sad that I'm not able to go

There isn't enough time, or enough alcohol, to say or do all the things they haven't done already. Though they try. They try a lot.

They all have plans, and Lance's have really already started, he's got a couple days off and then there are a thousand things that should have been started last month. He calls this a vacation and not a mourning period because that's just too goddamned sad but things were so beautiful when they were good that he can't pretend it's so easy to get over. They were smart enough to stop while they were still in love with the idea and the execution of it all so there are no tough times to grieve, anyway.

Joey swears he's just gonna be a stay-at-home dad, though nobody thinks that will last, or else they all just feel sorry for the PTA president who has to put up with the Fatone family at meetings. Chris has this calmness to him, this peace, and Lance isn't sure where it came from, maybe he's just grown into himself, finally, so whatever he does after he gets back from a trip around the world will probably work out fine. JC's singing his own songs for a change, not making them work for someone else, and from what he's played for them the music is totally new and still sweet like confectioner's sugar.

Lance thinks he'll always be doing this, this summary, this weekly update of what everyone's up to, and he knows it won't be the same but he grins at the thought of being an old man with a wallet full of family pictures and a year's worth of stories.

The Chilean sky is like nothing Lance has ever seen, an azure he hadn't thought existed painted with silver streaks of clouds that sweep up from mountains like wisps of breath. His stomach is rumbling and he walks to the kitchen of the rented house and comes back with blocks of cheese and tortillas.

Justin's still asleep. They barely got out of bed all day and his naked body is tangled in the baby blue cotton sheets. He breathes in and out, a gentle purr in the quiet room, and Lance trails a finger up Justin's bare back until his eyes flutter open.

 

END.

Credits: J-Lo helped tie the bow. I stole shamelessly from Stephen Stills and couldn't even come up with a decent excuse the boys would be listening to the song. So sue me.

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