Worth It
by Shine

It was sometimes extremely clear, Lance thought, that this thing with Chris was trouble. Perfectly clear, in fact. Clear like the water those ads for Evian, where they showed gorgeous streamlets and waterfalls in picturesque mountain settings, and didn't mention all the algae and sand and fish crap. That was sort of like what their relationship was, really. Beautiful clear water, with hidden sand and fish crap.

Lance ran his hand self-consciously through his hair, which felt greasy and unkempt, even though he knew it looked perfectly acceptable and stylishly mussed, and glared at his microphone like it might bite back. He was pretty much the only person even bothering to hold one.

The wardrobe women were fussing around Joey, some sort of wardrobe emergency that had them doing something with straight pins and fabric pens and his pants from Bye Bye Bye even though it was the middle of soundcheck, and Chris was watching and offering helpful remarks. Chris being Chris, most of them were ignored. Wade looked ready to kill something if they didn't start concentrating. JC didn't like the acoustics in this place, and was bitching about it. Justin told him to knock it off, and was trying to jump on JC's back.

Lance sighed and waited for it to be over.

***

That morning, it was still dark outside when Lance work up, and stumbled to the bathroom. He didn't bother to turn the lights on as he peed and brushed his teeth, and only turned the vanity lights on when he got into the shower. The glare off of the pristine white porcelain was almost blinding, and he shut his eyes tight and turned on the water.

Lance had habits. He was a very habitual person, really. His ability to do business wasn't based so much on blazing intellect, as on a steadfast attention to detail, and a knack for organization. He had a system for everything, time-tested and true, and that way he made sure that everything got done that needed to be.

Like in the mornings. It had taken four years, but Lance had hit on a perfect routine for his mornings. Use the bathroom, brush teeth, then shower. Shampoo hair. Wash face. Rinse out shampoo, put in conditioner. Wash body. Rinse off again, get out, and dry off. Moisturizer. Lip balm. Gel in his hair, and he was out the door to dress. All in a nice, efficient fifteen minutes.

He was ducking his head under the shower when he heard a rustle and another body slid in next to him. "Morning," Chris mumbled, and leaned on him. He was warm and wet and squirmed indignantly when Lance tried to shrug him off. He licked Lance's shoulderblade and then slid to his knees, bracing himself on Lance's thighs while he nuzzled Lance's cock. Lance gritted his teeth and half-fell against the cold tile wall. Chris hummed happily, and Lance came all over the shower curtain.

He dragged Chris up and kissed him hard, and what with the handjob, and the recovery, and the loud banging on the door from Joey who wanted to get down to breakfast before they had to do an interview at seven, Lance completely forgot to wash his hair.

***

He pecked at the keyboard irritably, slanting sullen looks in Chris's direction. Chris looked terrific. Chris looked amazing. Chris did not look as though he'd come so hard he barely remembered his name, and certainly nothing as complicated as shampoo or conditioner.

His email chimed, and he opened the new message. It was from Meredith, panicked and almost hysterical over what outfit she should wear for Letterman. Lance sighed and stared at the excess of exclaimation points, and spent almost ten minutes trying to figure out a way to say "grow up" without actually getting fired as her manager. He still hadn't succeeded when he happened to look up and saw Chris staring at him.

***

"Jesus," Justin was saying, waving his hands, "like, did you see that girl? I dunno, Section One-Oh-Three or something, maybe, with the green hair? And that poster, fuck," he took a huge bite of pancake, and Joey nodded. Justin always got the best posters. Justin and Chris. Justin due to sheer volume, and Chris because everyone seemed to think that, if they made a clever, witty, intelligent poster, he'd sleep with them. They weren't entirely wrong, but that was another issue entirely. Joey didn't get many good posters, for some reason, although there had been a pretty nice Superman one three concerts ago.

Chris was leaning against a pillar, not looking at anyone. Lance wasn't sure how Chris had gotten there before him, but he was inclined to add it to the list. Joey moved over, and Lance sat down and grabbed a muffin.

"Where's JC?" he asked, and Joey nodded over towards a baby grand in the next room, the bar, where JC was sitting and scribbing something down.

"Writing," Joey said, and Lance grinned. JC while songwriting was a treat. Once they'd actually gotten all the way out of the hotel before he remembered he was supposed to be somewhere and come looking for them.

"Anyway," Justin said, wrapping his story up, and he looked tired. All of them did, except Chris, who only looked tired at the beginning of tours. "What're we doing after the soundcheck?"

"Free day," Chris said, and Lance looked up, startled. Chris was usually the person who asked, not answered, that question. "Nothing to do but hang for two hours."

"We should eat," JC said, drifting back from the piano and looking excited and rumpled. His notebook was covered with chickenscratch handwriting. "There's a good Indian place, like, eight blocks from here. It'd be better than Chik-Fil-A." JC loved food, maybe more than any of them, and had the good resturaunts near their venues more or less memorized.

"Indian sounds good to me," Chris said, and Lance sighed, because he hated Indian. Lance was a meat and potatoes person, really, American food, and Indian food was about as far as you could get from barbecue and homemade cole slaw and steaks as you could get without a rocket. But Chris liked anything spicy, and Joey liked everything period, and Justin would eat whatever the rest of them ate and not care. And it would be stupid if he was the only one who didn't want to go.

Chris glanced over at him and smiled, looking pleased with himself, and Lance felt somethng twist in his stomach.

Later, Lance watched Chris sip lassi through a straw, and squirt it out on Justin's arm making Justin yell and hit him with his napkin, both of them laughing like hyenas. When Chris licked the honey from his gulab jamun off his fingers, Lance felt that twist again.

He was pretty sure he didn't like it.

***

Lance stripped off his undershirt, soaking with sweat. His ears still rang from the concert, and he felt buzzed and a bit lightheaded from the adrenaline aftermath. He threw the shirt into a corner of the bus, where wardrobe would go through and get it the next morning, and crawled onto the divan. Stupid leopardprint, he thought drowsily, and stared at the ceiling. This was one of their rare overnight trips, from Chicago to Philadelphia, and he doubted they'd be there before eight. He really should get into his bunk, which had real sheets and blankets and a pillow from home, but he didn't.

Fifteen minutes later, Chris came out of the bathroom. His hair was wet near his forehead, and the circles under his eyes, masked before by makeup and excitement, were pronounced. He was wearing a t-shirt and boxers, and he crawled over Lance on the divan and settled in close, tucked between the shell of the bus and Lance's side.

He was still breathing a little hard, his chest rising and falling against Lance's arm. Lance touched his arm, just a couple fingers, and stroked down to the wrist, knuckle, fingertip. Chris made a sleepy sound, and Lance shook his head.

"Nothing," he said softly, and Chris mumbled, already half-asleep. He threw a leg over Lance's calves, and moved closer. Eyes closed, he looked younger, and almost shy. Lance watched him for a moment.

Aggravating. Annoying. Frustrating. Too much energy, too much intensity, and not enough restraint. Infuriating, and inconvenient. Lance could list them all off by heart. All of them were true--even Chris would probably concede that all of them were true. But they didn't take into consideration one very important fact.

Lance closed his eyes, and wriggled closer himself, and folded his hand over Chris's arm securely.

He was worth it.

Fin