Better
by Shine

The bus jolted as it hit a pothole, and JC staggered on his way back from the bathroom to the lounge, grabbed wildly for the counter of their tiny kitchenette. The bus swerved as he was moving, though, and he misjudged and hit his elbow on the edge.

"Fuck!" He regained his balance and hung on to the counter as the bus dipped and rolled some more, and craned his neck to see if he'd bruised himself, gritting his teeth at the sweet-sharp aching twinges from his funny bone.

"You okay?" Justin looked up from the couch, sprawled on his stomach with his hands tucked under his chin, only his head and shoulders visible from under a ratty blue cotton blanket. JC couldn't help smiling, despite the pain in his arm--with his body hidden by the blanket, and his face clean-shaven and still relaxed from sleep he looked about fourteen. Just a kid, really, like he'd been back when they started. It was good to see, JC decided.

The blanket only added to the impression. It was originally an old blanket of Lynn's, and was old and worn to a perfect softness and faded and stained with use. There were a couple tears that had been inexpertly mended years ago in bright purple thread, the stitches small and uneven. They had to keep it under the cushions whenever photographers were on board, but it had been on tour with them since the beginning and none of them were willing to give it up. Justin in particular still curled up with it, when he was bored or frustrated or just tired and wanting a break from everything.

This time he'd been taking a nap; the television reception had been screwed to hell by the rainstorm following them from Columbus to Kansas City, and their movie collection had been memorized weeks ago. There were smudged red lines across his cheek from the arm of the couch, which he was using as a pillow, and his hair--even short as it was--was scuffed up and half of it ran the wrong way, sticking up in tiny tufts like duck fluff. He looked, JC thought affectionately, absolutely nothing like a pop star, which was all to the good as far as JC was concerned.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his elbow gingerly one last time and stumbling the last few steps to sit down heavily on the couch, after eyeing the blurred curve of Justin's body to find his waist, where there was more room. He leaned back with deliberate carelessness, pushing Justin hard into the back of the couch, and ignored his muffled groan. "Well, I'm comfortable," he said guilelessly, and bit his lip to keep from laughing at Justin's stifled grunt.

"What..." Justin managed, struggling, "oh fuck, come on, C. Jesus--get *off.*" Justin bent his neck around and scowled up at JC, wriggling under him, trying to shove him away. JC just grinned and leaned in even more vigorously, bracing his socked feet against the dinette to keep the pressure up. It was the kind of roughhousing they'd done together since their mouse days, and he knew Justin wasn't really mad. It was just all part of the game.

The force increased, and Justin swore breathlessly. Beneath JC his body tensed and lifted; one long arm squirmed out from under the blanket and awkwardly groped for his side, burrowing into the soft skin just below his ribs. JC yelped and twisted away, but then Justin had the leverage he needed, and with the pressure on him eased, he *heaved* with coiled strength, surprising for someone that thin, and then JC was on his ass on the floor and Justin was free.

Justin laughed, grinning in triumph, and settled back down under the blanket, looking smug and content. JC laughed as well, and let himself slide the rest of the way down, staring up at the ceiling of the bus--so far away from down here, laying on the short pile of the bus carpet, in the narrow walkway between couch and dinette table. He counted scuffs and dents on the ceiling, evidence of long-ago wrestling matches--there were a surprising number of them. But then, Justin was tall, and he and Chris both tended to get pretty wild in closed spaces.

From the bunks came a soft sound, and JC lifted his head quickly. Chris had a slight flu that they were all pampering in the hopes of a speedy recover. With only thirty-six hours to their next concert, Chris sounded more like Lance than himself right now. JC and Justin had been taking turns bringing him soup and and tea and kleenex the whole day, but he'd fallen asleep about two hours ago, with JC sitting in the aisle rubbing his back as Chris coughed, since Chris was allergic to cough syrup.

"Chris?" he called, and heard a sneeze.

"Bless you," he answered, and a short hoarse chuckle floated out.

"Thanks," came the response, followed by a series of coughing, and JC heaved himself off the carpet and staggered back down the aisle. The bus was rolling like it was at sea--between the rain and the poor roads, it felt like they were sliding all over the highway. He doubted they'd make it to Kansas City on time.

"Sorry to wake you," he said, not really too worried about it. Chris, even when he was sick, was remarkably easy-going about stuff like that, and he could usually get back to sleep pretty quickly. The dismissive noise from Chris's bunk confirmed it, and he smiled as the bus shuddered and he grabbed for another handhold. He was really starting to get tired of this highway.

His cell phone rang when he was halfway to the bunk, and he sighed and swayed over to his bag to grab it. He flipped it open with one hand as he used the other to stay upright. "Yeah?" he said as he reached Chris's bunk and settled down next to him, drawing one knee up and running a slow gentle hand over Chris's back. Chris turned his head and smiled at him, his normal liveliness somewhat muted, but his eyes still sharp and clear.

"Hey, C. How's Chris doing?" Joey. He could hear the TV on loud in the background; it sounded like The Princess Bride. Joey had developed a much greater appreciation of "girly" movies ever since Brianna was born. Inigo was howling ""Fezzziiiiiiik! Helllllp meeee!" before someone, JC was guessing Lance, lowered the volume and he couldn't hear it anymore.

"Umm. Better, I think," he replied to Joey judiciously, gauging the temperature of the sleep-warm skin under his hand. It was a bit cooler than before, and slightly damp, which he hoped meant the fever was coming down. Chris coughed again, and JC felt the muscles of his back spasm. He set about rubbing with a firmer touch, and Chris sighed and stretched under his hand like a cat, eyes drifting shut. He smelled good, warm and damp and sleepy and a little like fabric softener, and a lot like Chris.

"Do that again," he mumbled, and JC smiled to himself and kneaded the tense knotted muscle between his shoulderblades, feeling Chris arch a little into his touch and moan almost inaudibly.

"When you're better," he whispered, leaning down close to Chris's ear, "I'll do that all over, okay?"

"Mmmmm. I'm gonna hold you to that, you know," Chris mumbled, breathing slightly deeper, slightly faster, just a hint of a smile making his face into something lighter, sweeter. JC grinned, and for a moment the slow, easy contact between them became something deeper, darker, filled with comfortable promise. A sound from the phone drew him back, and he realized Joey was asking him something.

"Oh. Um." He didn't have a clue what Joey'd just said. "Yeah, he's definitely getting better," he said into the phone, hoping that was appropriate, and heard Joey snort, the remote subterranean rumble of Lance's laughter in the background.

"Yeah, yeah. You two, jeez," Joey said good-naturedly, and JC laughed, felt his cheeks heat slightly when realized Joey must have heard their conversation. Chris twisted slightly and squinted up at him, too near-sighted to see clearly without his contacts, and JC shook his head, soothing him back down to the bed. "All right," Joey said easily. "Just calling to check. See you in...fuck, where are we headed again?"

"Kansas City," JC said absently, watching the way Chris's skin shivered and drew up into goosebumps under his fingers, and heard Lance say "Kansas City," in the distance. There was a brief scuffle of noise and then Lance was talking into the phone.

"Listen, C, we probably won't get there until eight or so, not six. This rain's slowing everyone down, and the trucks can't do it faster than that. Tell the guys, okay? Matt should know more, he's talking with Perry and the other drivers on the two-way. We may stop before that, get some food."

"Right," JC said, nodding, and smiled and made an assenting noise to Lance's "see ya" and flipped the phone closed.

"Lance says it'll be about five hours till we get there," he said, pitching his voice to carry out into the lounge area. "We may stop for dinner before we arrive." Justin shouted something unintelligible but vaguely comprehending in response, and JC tossed the phone across the aisle up into his own bunk and stood up. He pulled off his shirt and nudged Chris with his knee. "Move over."

Chris moved, and JC slipped into the warm space left behind, squirming his legs down under the sheet and blanket and curling around Chris with a soft contended sound. Chris echoed it, and JC wrapped an arm around his waist. Plenty of time until they needed to be up. He tucked his face into Chris's wild hair, soft and sweeping against his cheek and eyelids.

The bus bucked and vibrated all over, swayed like it was caught in a gale, but it didn't matter now.

"You're getting better," he whispered, and Chris nodded, already relaxing back into sleep, face turned into JC's chest.

Fin