They were in a nightclub in L.A. the
first time. Predictably, the place was
smoky, sweaty, and beer drenched, and the dance floor was too small for JC's
taste. It was a dive. Justin loved it. He was dancing with a gaggle of girls and boys in a corner by the
d.j. Lance was at the bar quietly
chatting up the bartender, a good looking guy with red hair, Chris was nursing
a Corona at their booth, and Joey had gone outside so he could use his cell to
talk to Kelly, who called to get some sympathy about water weight and swollen
ankles.
JC was about to leave the dance
floor, collect Chris and head back to the hotel when his path was suddenly
blocked by a pair of semi-laced black boots.
JC looked up into the face of the
boot wearer. He stopped cold. Thin fingers with black nail polish were
wrapped around a cigarette.
“I just had to meet the bloke with
the balls to write something like ‘Digital Get Down’,” the man said, and blew
smoke out between his teeth. He threw
his still lit cigarette out on the floor in front of him, and turned and walked
away.
JC stepped on the cigarette to put
it out as he headed towards the booth.
The second time was after a photo
shoot. The photographer had thought
that the nighttime shoot would be “different.”
“If by ‘different’ he meant ‘lame’,
then he was right,” Chris said, using air quotes to help make his point, as
they headed back toward wardrobe and their dressing rooms.
JC entered his small dressing room,
ready to shuck the horrible black and white zebra print shirt and shiny
burgundy pants the wardrobe people had put him in.
Some part of him wasn’t even
surprised to see the man from the club sitting in one of the easy chairs, his
feet up on the small stool in front of it.
“It’s about fucking time,” the man
said.
“We need better security,” JC
answered.
“Can’t argue with that,” the man
pushed himself out of the chair, cigarette drooping out of his mouth.
“Those things’ll kill you,” JC said.
The stranger laughed, a cross
between a bark and rueful sigh.
“Maybe,” he said.
JC started to shake a little. “I think you’d better leave before I have to
call security.”
The stranger ran the back of his
finger along JC’s jawbone as he passed him.
“Now, don’t get all excited on me, love,” he said.
JC didn’t even hear the door close
behind him.
The next meeting they had with
Johnny, JC brought it up.
“I think I have a stalker,” he
said. He was twisting his hands
together.
“No fucking way, man!” Joey
exclaimed.
“How come he has a stalker, but not
me?” Justin asked.
“Shut up, Justin,” Lance and Chris
managed at the same time.
Johnny frowned and put his hands
up. “What do you mean you have a
stalker, JC?”
“I mean, well . . . I’ve run into
this guy a couple of times, and he just seems to know where I am or where I’ll
be, and he’s gotten past security, and I think he’s kind of creepy.”
“Where have you seen him?” Johnny
asked. Lance’s brow furrowed.
“Well, the first time was a club in
L.A.”
“That’s a public enough place.”
“Yeah, but the second time was after
that evening photo shoot. He was in my
dressing room waiting for me when we finished.”
There was silence after that.
“Has he tried to or threatened to
hurt you in any way?” Johnny asked.
“No. I don’t think so. No.”
“Do you know what he wants?”
“No. No. How would I know
that? He doesn’t talk much.”
“Okay. Okay.” Johnny made his
serious face. “I’ll talk to security
about it, and we’ll make sure you have some extra protection. I’m sure he won’t show up again.”
JC nodded, feeling a little better.
“How come he gets this weird,
grown-up psycho and all I get are hysterical fourteen year olds?” Justin asked.
Joey whapped him on the back of the
head and told him to shut up.
The third time, after the show in
San Diego, JC just stood against the wall of the hallway outside Lance’s
dressing room.
“You’re not here to hurt me,” he
said.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” the
stranger echoed. “But what makes you so
sure?”
JC shrugged.
“I’m very dangerous,” the man said.
JC grinned.
“I am, boy. You have no idea the kind of things I’ve
done.”
“But you won’t do them to me.”
“Who decided that?”
JC shrugged again. “You did, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“No, but you decided it about me.”
The man tilted his head to the
side. “You’re not afraid?” He probably wanted it to come out as a
statement, but it came out instead as a question.
“No,” JC said. He wasn’t, and that surprised him. He tried not to show it.
“You’re not. I could smell it if you were.”
JC snorted.
“You’re innocent.”
JC laughed.
“Don’t laugh. You are.
I like that. You’re the most
innocent of all of them.”
JC thought. “What about Lance?”
“Lance is nice. But he lives in a world where he doesn’t
express himself. He’s learned to keep
it in.”
“And I express myself?”
The stranger smirked. “Take a ride, space cowboy.”
JC’s stomach turned.
“See, now you’re afraid,” the man
said, and walked out the back door marked exit.
“Anything distinguishable about
him?” Johnny asked, with Lonnie and the rest of the security detail huddled
around JC, along with assorted members of the San Diego police department.
“Um, he . . . his hair is short, and dyed bleached
blonde.”
“Good,” one of the guards
encouraged.
“And he has an English accent,” JC
said.
The police nodded amongst
themselves. “Don’t worry, we’ll handle
it.”
“Yeah,” JC said.
He wasn’t so sure.
At the club in New York, JC caught the man’s eye
and followed him into the alley between the club and the restaurant next door.
“Why are you following me?” JC asked as he cleared
the door.
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“What does it matter?”
JC paused.
“Because it does.”
The man raised his eyebrows and laughed. “Does it now?”
“I want to know why.”
“Because I like you.”
“You like me.
So you decide to stalk me? That’s
sick.”
“You followed me this time,” the man pointed out.
JC didn’t answer.
“What’s your name?” he asked instead.
The man shook his head. “No. No names.”
JC grimaced, annoyed. “Why not?”
“Because a name is power.”
JC laughed.
“Oh, come on!”
The stranger frowned. “It is!”
JC still laughed, leaning against the brick wall
of the restaurant. It has just rained,
and the wall was still damp.
“Fuck you,” the stranger said, finishing off his
cigarette and throwing the stub into a puddle.
JC raised an eyebrow. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”
The stranger stepped closer. “What would you know about it?”
“I’m not a little boy, you know,” JC said, his
pride wounded.
The man grinned, a wide, predatory, unearthly
smile.
In that instant, JC knew he was caught.
“You are a boy.
But I’ll make you into a man.”
When their mouths met, all JC could taste was
smoke.
JC started to accompany Lance and Joey to L.A.
when they had to do the last of their work on “On the Line.” They were taking a brief break before
starting vocals for the next album, and no one really questioned it, not even
when JC would rent a car and disappear for days at a time into southern
California. He always came back, so no
one really worried.
JC rolled over in bed to find Spike smoking again.
“Do you ever NOT smoke?” he asked, taking the
cigarette from Spike’s slim fingers and taking a drag himself.
Spike didn’t answer. JC handed the cigarette back, and his finger started to trace an
invisible path along Spike’s exposed chest.
“I’m hungry,” he said.
“Well you’re out of luck. There’s really not any food around this
place.”
“So I noticed.
This isn’t exactly the Four Seasons,” JC’s fingertip ran over a nipple.
“Don’t knock my home sweet home.”
“You mean your squatting place.”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “If you cared about where I lived, you wouldn’t come here so
often.”
JC smiled.
“True, I guess.”
There was silence while JC’s finger swirled
patterns on Spike’s stomach.
“So are you going to ask?”
“Ask what?” JC said.
“About me.
Why I live like this. Why I only
go out at night.”
JC shrugged.
“You don’t want the story?”
“I just kind of figured you for a vampire. William the Bloody and all that.” JC’s finger kept moving.
He looked up just in time to catch Spike’s
surprised expression and laughed.
“I’m not stupid, you know.”
Spike smirked.
JC slapped him lightly on the belly.
“I see things.
I can read. I looked stuff up.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” JC smiled crookedly. “And those magic shop people seem to know a
lot about you.”
Spike’s stomach rose and fell under JC’s hand as
he snorted. “Who’d you talk to?”
“Some really cute teenage girl who seemed REALLY
happy to meet me. Seemed to know a lot
about you, too.”
“Dawn,” Spike supplied.
“Yeah. She
was sweet. I gave her an
autograph. I think she likes you.”
“She’s a good kid.”
“Yeah,” JC agreed.
There was a moment of silence.
“So you’re not scared or anything? Seeing as how I’m a demon and all?”
JC shrugged, and tapped his finger lightly against
Spike’s forehead.
“Chip,” he said.
Spike’s expression darkened.
“Besides,” JC added, “I’ve never been afraid of
you.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“Maybe. If
you want me to be. Is that what you
want? Someone to be afraid of you?”
JC’s finger stilled while Spike closed his
eyes. He opened them again abruptly.
“No.”
JC bent down to kiss Spike on his breastbone.
“Didn’t think so,” he grinned, and kept planting
wet kisses up Spike’s chest.
“So this isn’t weird for you?” Spike asked.
“Why would you care, even if it was?” JC asked,
gently suckling Spike’s neck. “Besides,” JC added, “I’m in a fucking BOY BAND. I know a thing or two about bleeding people
dry myself,” he chuckled, finally finding Spike’s wet mouth with his own.
A couple of weeks later, Spike came up behind JC,
who was sitting on the edge of the bed, nude, with a notebook and pencil.
He ran his fingers through JC’s hair. “You need a haircut.”
JC shrugged. “Haven’t had time.”
“Actually, I kind of like it long,” Spike said.
“Maybe I’ll grow it out then,” JC said,
distracted.
“What are you trying to do?” Spike asked.
JC looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Write a song.”
Spike laughed.
JC frowned, which only made Spike laugh harder.
“You’re not serious!”
But JC was serious. “It’s what I do for a living.”
“No, JC, what you do for a living is sing nice and
look pretty and shake your ass for hordes of hormonal girls.”
JC looked offended.
Spike rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on! You don’t
take it more seriously than that, do you?”
JC answered by not answering.
“I’m not any better you know.” Spike came up and
wrapped his arms around JC’s shoulders, giving him a hug from behind.
“No, I wouldn’t know,” JC answered, clearly
miffed.
“I mean, I am fucking you. I’m a damn groupie!”
JC laughed in spite of himself, his body shaking
under Spike’s arms.
“I used to be one of the most vicious creatures
that ever walked this earth, I’ve killed two slayers, I’ve caused more murder
and mayhem then almost anyone in history, and I’m a damn boy band groupie! Look
what I’ve been reduced to.” Spike
paused. “It makes me a little sick just
to think about it.”
JC twisted his neck, and kissed Spike on the chin.
“Don’t let it bother you.”
“It’d bother me a whole lot less if you’d put down
that notebook and fuck me already.”
JC turned around in Spike’s arms and wrestled him
to the bed, pinning him on his back.
His eyes turned dark. “Say that
again.”
Spike looked into JC’s eyes. “Fuck me,” he said.
JC obliged.
When JC woke up hours later, Spike was gone, but
there were song lyrics scrawled in neat handwriting in his notebook. They were good. JC decided to keep them.
Chris and Justin came out to L.A. so the group
could do a round of pre-publicity for the new album and tour; Chris whistled
when JC emerged from his rental car back at the hotel.
“God damn, your hair is long, C!”
“I like it like this,” JC said, putting on his
sunglasses.
“Bet that look’ll get rid of your stalker,” Chris
laughed.
JC grabbed a duffle bag out of the trunk and
didn’t answer.
One time, Spike said, “I’m surprised you haven’t
asked,” as JC struggled back into his clothes.
“Asked what?”
“Asked me to turn you,” Spike
answered, sitting up in bed.
JC finished putting his black
t-shirt on and didn’t bother tucking it into his jeans.
“Why would I want that? Besides, you can’t.”
“I could try. It might hurt, but then it would be
over. Then you’d be young forever. You’d have your looks forever. Your voice would never change, your ass would
never sag, you could make the girls scream for you forever.”
JC buttoned his jeans, and looked
pensive. “Nothing lasts forever,” he
said.
“No,” Spike answered.
They looked at each other for a
moment.
Then JC said,
“The last time. The last time I see you, I want you to bite
me. Not turn me. But I want to know what it feels like. I want to feel . . .”
“Sure,” Spike said. “Ready to go meet your mates now?”
“Yeah,” JC said. He left.
The last time, the group rambled
into L.A. to put the finishing touches on the mix of one of the album’s
tracks.
JC had lied six ways from Sunday in
order to steal away an afternoon to drive to Sunnydale.
But it had been worth it.
JC had wanted it, wanted that bite,
wanted to see it, feel it, had begged for it while Spike kissed him, open
mouthed and wet, down his spine. Had
whimpered for it when Spike had parted his legs. Had cried it out when he came, hot and hard and sticky against
the curve of Spike’s hip.
Spike had said no, after.
So it was in the early morning
hours, when all little boys were still tucked away in their beds, and JC was
almost dressed, that Spike laid his palm down on JC’s chest so he wouldn’t put
his shirt on.
Without a sound, without a moan or
any indication of pain, Spike leaned in, leaned in so close, his breath hot and
misty against JC’s neck. If JC hadn’t
known what was coming, he would have thought it was a kiss. Just another kiss.
But instead, he leaned his head
back, left his throat open and exposed.
It felt like a pinch at first, like
a needle, like pressure, and he nearly panicked, but then he felt his heart
start to pump faster and his blood rushing through his body and he closed his
eyes and just concentrated on that feeling, and the far away feel of the teeth
inside him.
And then it was over, and he was
dizzy, a little woozy, swaying a little into Spike’s arms. He gasped out a couple of breaths.
Spike held him lightly, and then
released him. “Put your shirt on,” he
said, and turned away. JC saw him try
to furtively wipe his mouth, and then he understood what had happened.
That was the last time. Spike never looked at him again.
If anyone noticed the scar, they
didn’t ask.
