All Along

            One morning in late spring, Lance woke up with JC’s body.

            He wasn’t sure what had happened at first, and, in fact, until he went to get into the shower, he didn’t even notice.  Lance was not at his most astute during the morning. He’d woken up to the strains of George Michael coming from the alarm clock/radio, shuffling out of bed and scratching his chest idly as he walked barefoot to the bathroom.  Groggily, he surveyed himself in the mirror—eyes a little bloodshot, but nothing a shower and a cup of coffee wouldn’t cure.  He needed to redo his tips again.  He definitely needed a shave, but that would wait until after the shower.  He felt different, odd somehow, but in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.  Plus, he was hungry, and he was never hungry in the morning—Lance was a black coffee and maybe a banana kind of guy.  But today he was starving.  He’d have to get down to breakfast early to make sure there was food left for him.  Chris got up early and was an absolute hog at breakfast; he left everyone else his scraps.  He turned on the water to the shower, testing it on his wrist before he pulled his white sleep t-shirt over his head.  He wouldn’t have seen anything different right away, except that he turned to the sink to get the complementary shampoo off the counter.  He glanced at himself in the mirror.

            “What the fuck?” He took a step closer.

            His shoulders were less broad, more slender, than they were before, and his arms were muscular.  He had biceps for a change.  For a second he wondered if all that new working out had paid off.  You know, overnight. Then he looked further down, and saw that his nipples were a completely different color.  Okay, so that was weird.  He’d had some wacky sushi for dinner the night before, and he briefly wondered if it had been bad.  Could sushi do that to you?  The hair on his lower stomach was surprisingly dark, and Lance noticed a scar on the right side of his abdomen.  Lance didn’t have a scar on his abdomen.  His heart started to pound in his chest.  What the hell was going on here?  In fact, the scar looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it.  His hand fell to the waistband of his sweatpants.  And hesitated.  Swallowing hard, he pulled the pants and his boxers away from his stomach, and took a quick look.  He glanced back up rapidly, his head snapping back hard, and saw the look of pure terror on his face.  He’d never seen his eyes so big.

            Something was definitely wrong here.

            That was. This was not his body.  It wasn’t him. 

            Which lead to the question . . . if it wasn’t him, who was it?

            His hand instinctively went to trace the scar on his side.  He knew he’d seen the scar before; that meant this was the body of someone he knew.  Okay.  Okay.  That was better.  Not the body of a stranger.  Okay. 

Then it came to him why the scar was familiar.

            JC had had an emergency appendectomy when he was seven and the surgery had left a scar.  Lance had seen it a million times.

            So it was JC’s body.

            Lance had JC’s body.

            JC.

            “FUCK!”

 

 

            JC woke up to loud and persistent banging on his hotel room door.  His head had been buried underneath one of his pillows, his arm slung up on the other side.  He pulled the pillow a little further over his head and hoped the noise would go away.

            BANG! BANG! BANG!  “Joshua Scott Chasez, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

            Okay, so maybe the noise wasn’t going to go way.  He slipped on an old Redskins t-shirt to go with his boxers and trudged to the door.  He opened it to find Lance ready to take another swing at the door.  Lance’s arm froze in midair, his hand in a fist, almost as if he was making a gesture of brotherly solidarity.

            “What’s up, Lance?” JC asked, leaning against the doorjamb.  “You probably woke up the whole damn floor.”

            “Can I come in?” Lance asked, already squeezing between JC and the other side of the door.

            JC yawned and shrugged.  “Sure.”  He turned to find Lance pacing in front of him in the middle of the room.

            “Um, I woke you up?” Lance asked.

            JC nodded, sleepily.  He stood against the outside wall of the bathroom by the bed.

            “Okay.  Okay.  Umm . . . yeah.  Okay.”  Lance started muttering to himself.

            “What’s going on, La?  You okay?”  JC began to wake up a little.  Lance’s weird behavior was making him edgy.

            “Um.  Well.  No.  Not as such.  No.”

            “Lance?  What’s wrong?  You’re not making any sense.”  JC was starting to get this weird, almost panicked feeling.  Lance was definitely shooting strange vibes his way.

            “You haven’t.  Uh, showered, or anything, yet?”

            “No.  Why?  You’re kinda freaking me out here, dude.”

            “Go take off your clothes—your shirt, I meant JUST your shirt, and go look in the mirror.”

            “Huh?”

            “Just do it.”

            “Lance . . .”

            “JC!”

            “Okay, okay.”  Lance heard JC mumble, “You freak” underneath his breath as he went into the bathroom.

            Thirty seconds later there came, “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

            Lance could tell that JC had just stumbled back into his boxers as he exited the bathroom.

            “I told you JUST YOUR SHIRT!” Lance’s voice had never come out so high.

            “I know, but I was curious.” JC blushed furiously.

            Lance sighed long and hard.

            “How’d you know?” JC finally managed to get out.

            “Know what?  I looked!” Lance stumbled as he answered his own question.

            “You looked at my body?  Do you look at my body all the time? I mean, how did you know that I have the wrong body?” JC sat down on the edge of the bed, mostly because he didn’t think his knees were going to keep him upright for much longer.

            Lance whacked him in the back of the head.

            “OW!”

            “I KNOW, you moron, because I  have your body.  You must have mine.”

            JC just looked at him, open mouthed.

            Lance started to pull up his t-shirt.

            “Whoa, whoa . . .” JC started.

            “Shut up you big baby.  I’m just showing you this.”  Lance pointed to the appendectomy scar.

            JC leaned in for a closer look.  “Oooohhh . . .” he breathed.  After a second he said, “How do you know I have your body?  What if I have, say, Chris’ body?”

            Both took a second to shudder at that thought.

            “Um, is there a small scar on your right wrist?”  Lance grabbed JC’s arm to look before he could answer.

            JC peered at the arm along with Lance.  “Yeah.”  They both looked at the triangle shaped rise of skin.

            “I got that when I was fifteen and trying to iron a shirt for my sister.”

            “Oh.”

            For long minutes there was silence.

            “You know what this means, don’t you?” Lance whispered.

            JC looked down at the carpet.  “It means we’ve seen each other’s.  Um. It means we’ll see each other naked.”

            “Yep,” Lance said.

            Neither of them said anything for a long time after that.

 

 

 

            They called an emergency group meeting in Joey’s room after they thought everyone else was done for breakfast.  The five of them quietly assembled on what JC and Lance had hoped would be neutral ground.

            “So what’s going on, y’all?” Justin asked. 

            Lance rolled his eyes.  Southern Justin was even worse than ghetto Justin.

            JC looked at the carpet and mumbled unintelligibly to himself.  Lance poked him hard the ribs.

            “Something really weird has happened,” rushed out almost as one word from JC.

            Chris, Joey, and Justin all exchanged glances.  “As long as you guys haven’t suddenly turned into girls overnight, I think we’re fine here,” Chris ventured.  Lance and JC were making him hyper, in a bad way, and he didn’t like it.

            “Well, uh . . .” JC stumbled.

            “It seems that JC and I have switched bodies,” Lance finally said, as calmly as if he was reporting the weather.

            There was silence.

            “So . . . does that mean that Lance is in JC’s body, and JC is in Lance’s?  Like your brains have switched or somethin’?” Justin asked cautiously.

            “No, no,” Lance started to explain.  “This isn’t Freaky Friday or anything.”

            “Oh,” Joey managed.

            “It’s just that, well, from the neck up, everything’s the same, but from the neck down, um, things are different.” JC made an attempt at explanation. 

            “Oh,” Joey said again.

            “So you guys can still sing and stuff, right?” Chris asked.

            JC and Lance looked at each other.  “Yeah, I guess,” Lance said.

            “And you can still dance, right?” Chris again.

            “Yeah,” JC said.

            “And this should, um, go away or reverse itself sometime, right?”

            “God, I hope so,” JC said quickly.  Lance looked a little miffed at that.

            “Well, then, we’ll just carry on, right team?” Chris looked so unperturbed it was a little eerie to Lance.

            “Yeah,” Lance said.

            “Great.”

            More silence.

            “So, uh, you guys have seen each other’s little Johnsons, huh?” Justin asked.

            “Shut up, Justin,” Joey said, and smacked him in the arm.

 

 

            They decided that they needed to tell Wade, but not Johnny or any other people in management.  It didn’t affect them, they figured, but Wade ought to know, just in case he wanted to choreograph some different things; it was pretty well known that both JC and Lance had their limitations.

            After looking stunned for about two minutes, Wade had said, “We can work with this,” and nodded confidently.

            And that was that.

 

 

            Lance started loving rehearsals.  It was hard for both JC and Lance at first, getting used to a different body’s center of gravity, and bulk, and balance, and all of the other not so small things that made dancing dancing.  But Lance discovered pretty quickly that having JC’s body made him ten times the dancer he had been.  Not that Lance hadn’t worked his way up to “more than adequate,” but he had worked, and even though he still had to learn the moves, there was an ease to the steps that hadn’t been there before.  JC’s absolute precision was completely and totally inborn—he hadn’t been taught that, Lance discovered.  His muscles were just fluid.  Suddenly, his dance moves became crisper, more defined, more precise—freer—and Lance for the first time felt like he was flying when he danced.  He loved it.

            Everyone noticed.  Wade started yelling at him less and working with him more—as a collaborator, not a trained monkey.  He and Justin started spending more time practicing, just the two of them, doing moves over and over not to try to get them right, or even perfect them, but just to do them, just to have fun.  Dance had never been fun for Lance before, unless he was in a nightclub able to just sway his hips to his own rhythm.  Now, his internal rhythm was different, more intense, and more in flux.  Joey would watch his hips sway, in rehearsals and on the dance floor, and whistle in appreciation.  Lance would grin ear to ear.  JC always looked away.

            Performances, too, made Lance ecstatic.  He had always loved performing, even before, but now, he was feeling so good, so much more free, that he ate up the crowd, and tore up the stage.  Fans and reporters started noticing him more.  He was still the shy, kind of awkward one, but he had this newly found energy on stage that magnetized the crowd and everyone around him.  The reporter from “Rolling Stone” had asked Lonnie, after watching one of their shows from backstage, when Lance had suddenly gotten so good—and so hot.  Lonnie had just laughed and shrugged his shoulders, but knew that everyone these days was asking the same question.  Lance got more copy in that “Rolling Stone” article than he ever had in any article before.  He sent a copy to his mom and one to his sister.

 

            JC, however, was less than happy, and trying really hard not to show it.  Where Lance had become happier, more confident, JC was trying to deal with a body he just couldn’t make work.  Everything was different.  Performances were great, but not wild, all out energy extravaganzas like they used to be. Wade yelled at him all the time.  He left rehearsals feeling tired, sweaty, and frustrated.  He even had trouble keeping up with Joey, even after Joey’s accident with the trap door.  He couldn’t keep memory in his muscles like he used to; he tripped over his own feet all the time; he felt clumsy and awkward.  He knew that Lance could dance, could dance better than JC was with Lance’s body, but somehow he was unable to use that body in the same way.  Wade said he lacked the discipline.  When Wade had said it to him, right before a show in Chicago, he’d merely gotten very red in the face and walked away.  When he got back to the bus, he’d cried what he thought were stupid tears, and as he was wiping them away, thought that what he lacked was not the discipline, but the heart.

 

 

            They had five days between tour dates.  Two of them were going to be spent on the bus, and three of them in a hotel in Austin.  Chris made JC go on the two man bus with Lance because he and Justin had planned a two day Playstation marathon for the bus trip to prove “who really was the man,” according to Chris.  It was clear to everyone but Chris that Justin would win.  Joey had complained about having to be the odd man out on the three man bus, but since he and everyone else knew that he’d go stir crazy with just Lance around, he stayed put, leaving JC and Lance time to go it alone.

            The first morning, neither JC nor Lance said very much.  Lance was all wrapped up on the phone and the computer with FreeLance stuff, and JC spent the time with his headphones on and his notebook, scribbling.  He was surprised when Lance pulled back one of the earphones and barked in his ear, “Lunch, ‘C?”

            JC put the notebook down.  “Sure, whatta we got?”

            Lance went into the little kitchen, and JC followed, padding silently in his socked feet across the carpet.

            Lance peered into the fridge. “Deli stuff—turkey, ham, salami, tuna, pickles, hot dogs . . .”

            “Sandwiches?”  It was more a statement than a question.

            Lance looked up at him and grinned.  JC’s insides kind of twisted up for a second.  “I’ll get the fixins.”

            Sure enough, lunch consisted of an assortment of sandwiches, chips, pickles, potato salad, and brownies that the driver Dave had picked up at the last stop.

            Lance eyeballed JC over the rim of his coke can as they sat back around the table, letting the meal digest.

            “So . . .” he started.  “How you been lately?”

            JC looked up.  “Fine.  You see me every day Lance.  You should know that.”

            Lance took another appraising look that made JC a little nervous.  “Yeah, I do see you every day.  And you don’t look very happy these days.”

            JC shrugged.  “I’m fine, though.  Don’t know what it is you’re seein’ there, dude.”

            Lance continued to squint at JC.  “Really?”

            What do you want me to say, Lance?  That I hate having your body?  That it’s stupid and awkward and big and I can’t wear any of my own shirts anymore and I hate it that Wade yells at me all the time and you get a lot of attention now and that I hate myself for hating that you get more attention?  “Yes.”

            “You sure you’re not upset about having my body?”  Lance asked.

            Right now, JC hated that Lance was perceptive.  “It’s fine,” he said shortly.

            “ ‘Cause you know, your body isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Lance smiled.

            JC squinted across the scattered remains of lunch.  “What?”

            “Well, you’re kinda skinny.  Bony, actually.  And your ribs show through the skin.  And don’t even get me started on the fact that I can’t eat onions anymore . . .”

            JC snorted unconsciously.  “Yeah.  It’s you who got the worse end of this deal.  Right.”

            Lance’s forehead suddenly spurted three wrinkles across it.  “Huh?  I thought it was awkward for both of us.”

            Yeah, right, JC thought.  “Yeah, right.”

            “What does that mean?”

            “It’s really terrible for you, isn’t it Lance?  You’re a better dancer.  And Wade loves you now, and the other guys hang around with you more, and you perform better, and the fans love you and you get a HUGE amount of copy in “Rolling Stone,” and you’re thinner and more muscular and you could have anyone you wanted, and . . .” JC ran out of breath before Lance interrupted him.

            Lance’s eyes suddenly looked cold.  “I thought you were unhappy, but I didn’t think . . .”

            JC’s head snapped up.  “Think what?”

            “That you hated my body.”

            “Well, think again.  I hate your body and I wish this had never happened and I can’t WAIT to get my body back.”

            Lance backed his chair away and got up from the table.  “I’m glad you think your body is God’s gift to mankind,” he said softly as he padded back to his bunk.

            JC stared at Lance’s back as he walked away.  He couldn’t bring himself to say he was sorry.

 

 

            The two pretty much avoided each other for the next day and a half, no small feat while on the bus.  Finally, at ten the next night, after listening to Lance’s scattered breathing from the next bunk, a sure sign he was crying, JC got out of his bed and went and pulled the curtain back from Lance’s bunk.  Lance turned over and hunched on his side, facing the wall.

            JC reached out a hand, but couldn’t bring himself to touch Lance on the shoulder.  His fingers hovered just out of reach of Lance’s soft shirt.

            “Lance?” he whispered.

            There was no answer.

            “Lance?” JC tried again.

            Still nothing.  JC took a deep breath.

            “Lance, I’m sorry I was such an asshole. What I said wasn’t fair and was completely selfish. I’m sorry.”

            Lance didn’t even relax his position at all.

            “I’m happy that you’re happier.”

            “But you think that’s all because of your body,” Lance said, low and ragged and soft.

            JC paused.  “No, that’s what I used to think.”

            Lance turned over on his back, but he wouldn’t look JC in the eye.

            JC swallowed and continued, “Now, I think you’re happier ‘cause you’re more confident.  But all the stuff that makes you confident now, you had all along.  You just didn’t see it before.”

            Lance laughed, low and deep, and swiped his arm across his eyes.  “That’s such a pile of shit.”

            “It is not!”

            “It is, but thanks for saying it anyway.”  Lance smiled and scooted over to let JC sit on the edge of the bunk.  JC’s hand idly went down and stroked Lance’s chest, his hand gliding over his own breastbone.

            “Weird, huh?”

            “Hmmm?”

            “To touch me but actually be touching yourself.”

            “Yeah, I guess.  Yeah.”

            Lance flushed a little.  “So, can I ask you something?”

            JC suddenly became a little wary.  Something in Lance’s tone made him sound like a 14 year old girl.  “Sure.”

            “Since we, uh, switched, have you ever, um.  Well.  You know.” JC enjoyed watching Lance struggle.

            “Um, yeah,” he said, a little shyly.

            “You have?” Lance sat up so fast he slammed his forehead into JC’s.

            “Fuck!”

            “Sorry!”

            “You have?”  Lance asked again, as they both settled themselves back down on the bunk.

            “I’m a guy, aren’t I?”  JC kind of smirked.

            “Yeah, but.  But.  You were just the one who admitted that it was weird just touching my chest.”

            “You brought that up.”

            “Yeah.”  Lance paused.  “So how was it?”

            JC laughed until he held his stomach, even over Lance’s protests of, “Shut up!  Shut up!  Shut up!” 

            Finally JC managed, “It’s not like it was sex, Lance.”

            “No, but it was you playing around with my dick, and I want to know how it was!”

            Lance’s frankness made JC stop laughing.  “It was good.”

            “Really?”

            “Some of the best beat offs I’ve ever had, Lanceton.”

            Lance threw a pillow at him.

            “Sorry.  It was fine.  The same, you know.  After, well. I had to get used to some stuff.”

            “Like what?” Lance asked, suddenly ready to be offended.

            “Well, like, um . . . well.  You know.  Everyone likes different things.  I had to kind of.  Yeah.  Figure out what. You liked.” JC stuttered.

            “Oh.”

            “Did you figure it out?”

            “Yeah.  Eventually.”  JC blushed.  “What about you?”

            “No.”

            “No?” JC was incredulous.

            “No.  It’s like.  Um.  An invasion of privacy.  Or something.”  Lance shrugged.

            JC smiled.  Of course Lance hadn’t, that was why he was Lance.

            “Why are you smiling?”

            “Just because.”

            “Because why?”

            “Because.  It’s just like you not to.” JC said as he realized that if he evaded Lance further, the other man would think JC was making fun of him.

            “Oh,” Lance said, and looked down.

            “Yeah, and that’s why I love you, bro,” JC quickly added.

            Lance looked up, a flash of apple green.  He smiled.  “Yeah.”

            JC reached down and absently started to stroke Lance’s forearm, making the little hairs stand up.  “Any other questions?”

            Lance pretended to think.  “You haven’t been sticking my thing where it doesn’t belong now, have you?”  He couldn’t even get the sentence out without laughing.

            “No, I have not, for your information, Mr. high and mighty, pure and innocent,” JC reached in to tickle Lance, his fingers lifting the hem of Lance’s t-shirt just a little.

            When Lance finally gave up struggling and asked for mercy, JC had him pinned down beneath him on the bed, breathing hard, faces inches away.  Lance giggled one more time.  On impulse, Lance reached up and pressed a kiss to JC’s lips, quick but firm.  When he pulled away, JC paused, frozen for a second.  Then he said, “Okay,” and rolled off of Lance and out of the bunk.  He said good night and headed to his own bunk before Lance could say anything else.

           

 

 

            Sometime during the third night in Austin, they switched back. 

            Everyone seemed relieved, except for Wade, who practically threw a fit in the lobby of the hotel.  “We have two shows to do here in as many days, GUYS.  Can you even imagine the chaos this is going to cause?”

            “I thought we’d just get up on stage and sing the same old songs and dance with the same old steps,” Chris said.

            “Shut up, Kirkpatrick,” Wade glared at him.  Chris glared back.

            “You two,” Wade pointed a finger and waved it between Lance and JC, “I want you in rehearsal clothes and on the mock stage in twenty minutes.”

            Justin laughed.

            “And the rest of you, I want you there at 1:00 sharp.  And don’t eat anything too heavy for lunch.”

            Joey moaned and put his head in his hands, after he whapped Justin on the arm.

 

           

            Rehearsal went badly, both before and after the entire group was assembled. JC and Lance tripped over themselves so much that at first Chris laughed hysterically, but by the end, not even Chris was laughing.

            After “Bye Bye Bye” there was an intense silence.

            Justin broke it. “Wow, you two really SUCK.”

            JC glared at him.  “Shut up.”

            “No, man, I mean really.  Not even just stink up the joint bad, I mean down right no holds barred god awful.”

            “Shut up,” Lance said.

            “Everyone go shut up and take a nap,” Wade snapped.  “You guys are just pissing me off.”

            No one was going to argue with that.

 

 

            Turned out the first show wasn’t the entire catastrophe that the band had imagined.  It wasn’t wonderful, either, but at least no one actually fell down on their ass, a la the afternoon’s rehearsal.  Wade let JC and Lance go a glare, a sigh, and a parting, “I suppose it’ll get back to normal soon enough.”

            God, they hoped so.

            Lance was the one it was keeping up that night.  He missed JC’s body.  He missed his smell that Lance had become intimately familiar with after rehearsals and touch football games.  He missed wrapping his arms around himself and feeling JC’s biceps.  He missed the precision that came with his walk.  He didn’t care that he couldn’t dance as well, or his feet felt small all of the sudden, or that the broadness of his shoulders was back.  He didn’t care that Wade had downright screamed at him in rehearsal, or that the fans hadn’t been as enthused with him that night as before.

            He liked being Lance again.

            But he hated not being JC, too.

            At 1:14, his phone rang.

            “Hello?”

            “Lance?”

            “Yeah?”

            “It’s JC.”

            “I know.”

            “Oh.”

            “Do you want something?”

            “Um, I thought maybe I could come over.  I couldn’t sleep,” the words came out of JC’s mouth in a rush.

            “Yeah, me either.  You wanna watch t.v.?

            “Sure.”

            “Okay.”

            “I’ll be right down.”

            “Sure.”

            JC hung up.

            Lance sighed.

 

 

            JC did indeed arrive a few minutes later, bearing candy bars and soft drinks from his mini-bar.  For the next hour, they shared a coke and a Snickers bar and watched re-runs of “Three’s Company” on Nick at Nite.  At about 2:30, JC looked at the clock and said,

            “Well, I should go.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Yeah.”

            JC didn’t move an inch.

            Instead, he started to trail the fingers of his left hand over Lance’s right thigh, stroking the jean clad flesh lightly with his fingertips.

            “Uh, JC . . .”

            This time, JC did swing his legs off the bed and stand up.  He headed partway to the door, and then turned around.

            “So, um,” he said.

            “Yeah?”

            “Is this weird for you at all?” JC asked.

            “Yeah, a little,” Lance answered.

            “Really?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Why?”

            Because I miss you, Lance thought.  What he said was, “Just adjusting to having my body back, I guess.”

            “Yeah, me, too,” JC said.

            “Right.” 

            JC looked down at the floor for a second, and when his blue eyes met Lance’s again, Lance felt a small shiver run up his back.

            “Um, you know why else this is weird?” JC asked.

            “Why?”

            “Because I miss having your body around.”  He paused.  “God, that sounds stupid.”

            Lance smiled, a real smile, one that shone with relief and understanding.  “No, I know what you mean.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.”

            “So you know what it’s like to miss your smell?  Or the way you have a little bit of a pooch under your belly button?  Or that you’re ticklish under the knees? Or that the hair on your arms is smooth and silky?”

            Lance swallowed when JC moved closer to where he was standing by the bed.  “Yeah.  Or the way your feet are sensitive to light and get sunburned if you wear sandals outside.  Or the way you always lead with your hips when you walk.  Or the way your thighs never sweat, even when the rest of you is dripping.  Stuff like that.”

            “Yeah.”  JC was standing inches away now.  “You know, on the bus, when you kissed me?”

            “Yeah.” It didn’t come out more than a shaky whisper from Lance.  “You freaked out,” he said, matter-of-factly.

            “Yeah,” JC agreed.  “I just thought it would be weird, you know, to kiss my body, kiss myself.”

            “Yeah,” Lance said.  “Except that our mouths didn’t change.” And with that, he let his mouth descend on JC’s, a little greedier than he had expected, gently sucking on his lips.  JC didn’t pull away, and with the next kiss, JC opened Lance’s mouth, gently, and darted his tongue in, running it along the roof of Lance’s mouth until Lance moaned softly.

            “I thought you might like that,” JC said, trying to catch his breath.

            “Oh, yeah?” Lance replied, a little dizzy.  He couldn’t help but smile.  “What else do you think I’ll like?”

            “Well,” JC said, gently removing Lance’s shirt and sliding it over his arms and head.  “I think you’ll like this . . .”  JC trailed open mouthed, wet kisses all the way across Lance’s collarbone, from one shoulder to the other, lingering in the soft spot between the bones, licking gently with his tongue.

            “And I think you’ll like this . . .” JC began to kiss his way down Lance’s chest, his fingertips running up and down Lance’s arms.  He rubbed his nose around first Lance’s left nipple, and then the right one, eliciting a soft moan.

            JC continued to move down Lance’s stomach, kissing his navel, and using his tongue to play gently with the soft hairs that started above Lance’s jeans, and then continued lower.  He gripped Lance’s wrists lightly.

            Then he stood up and captured Lance’s mouth again, and they kissed for a long while, deep, slow, lazy kisses that took their time and searched out every sensation, every taste, every softness.

            “And,” JC said, as he reached a hand down to gently cup Lance’s growing erection, “I know you’ll like this.” He squeezed gently, rewarded with a sigh and an “Oh, Josh,” from Lance.  JC smiled a little wickedly.  Lance’s head had fallen downward as his breathing became more labored, but he glanced up in time to see the vestiges of that smile.  Breathing deeply and smiling himself, he divested JC of his shirt by running his hands up JC’s chest, and then grabbing the hem and pulling as he went back down.  He could feel JC shudder as JC kissed him ferociously, the message coming through loud and clear.  Each man stepped out of his pants and boxers and they kissed wildly and frantically as they headed towards the bed.

            JC ended up straddling Lance, his hands in his hair, on his face, his neck, on his . . .

            “Oh, GOD,” Lance moaned and half lifted off the bed.  JC smiled and kissed him.

            The only time there was absolute silence was in the minute after JC had entered Lance’s body.  Then JC’s head fell next to Lance’s, his mouth close to Lance’s ear.  As he moved, he breathed into that ear, suckled it, kissed it, whispered into it.

            “I never hated your body.  Never.  It’s not awkward.  Or too big.  It’s perfect.  It’s perfect.  It’s . . . oh . . .”

            JC took his hands and put them on either side of Lance’s face, forcing Lance’s eyes to open, wide and dilated.  “Lance . . . Lance . . .”  JC very nearly groaned.

            “Hmmm . . .” Lance answered

            “You know . . . what .  .  . I said.   Onthebus?”  JC could barely breathe, his chest, and other parts of him, were so tight.

            “Hmmmm  . . .” Lance almost hummed in response.

            “About.  About.  About how you were happier then because you had noticed what you had all along.”

            “Uh-huh,” Lance breathed.

            “You said.  It wasn’t true.  But.  But.  Ohhh.  But it is. Everything you think you.  Think. You.” JC had to pause to fight for breath. “Think you discovered.  That you could. Do.  That wasn’t.  My body.  That was you.  All along.”

            Lance’s eyes met JC’s.  “Is that why you love me?” he asked, breathless.

            “Yes,” JC breathed, thrusting one last time, stars bursting behind his eyes.

            For a long time, JC lay collapsed against Lance’s chest, breathing softly in the crook of his neck, Lance’s arms wrapped tightly around him, hands clenched behind JC’s back.  This time, Lance broke the silence.

            “I love you, too,” he said.

            He smiled, rubbing his nose into JC’s hair and kissing him on the temple.  “And your body pretty much is God’s gift to mankind.”  His smile broadened, and he could feel JC’s grin in the hollow of his neck.