Fourteen 

When JC woke up, he felt a brief sense of loss and didn't know why. He opened his eyes and looked at the empty space next to him. He smiled and stretched, remembering the wonderful hours before he had fallen asleep. JC got out of bed and pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms.

Lance was sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee, reading the newspaper. “Hey,” he said almost shyly. He turned up his face and JC tenderly kissed him. “I know you like tea, but I saw the coffee.”

“No problem,” JC said. “I drink it now and then. I'm sorry the kitchen is such a mess. Chris isn't the tidiest person on the planet.”

“I cleaned up a bit,” Lance said. JC stared at him, then went into the kitchen.

“Oh, my God. I have a counter.” JC poked his head back out. “You didn't need to do that!”

“I've been up for a while. I didn't mind,” Lance said. “Honest.”

JC looked at his counter, shaking his head. Lance had Golden Globes on his mantle. Lance had cleaned his kitchen counter. He poured himself a cup of coffee and went back to the living room. “Thank you,” JC said. “Want me to make some breakfast?”

“I'm not all that hungry.” Lance moved and spread his legs slightly. “C'mere.”

JC smiled and sat between Lance's knees, leaning back against Lance's chest. “Is there anything you wanted to do today?”

“No. I just want to do nothing. Maybe watch some TV…or head back upstairs,” Lance said, chuckling. The low sound against JC's back went right to his groin.

“Are you feeling better?” JC asked.

“Better than I have in ages.” Lance wrapped his arms around JC's chest. “So relaxed and just…happy.”

“I'm glad,” JC said. He felt Lance lay his chin on JC's head.

“Maybe you could teach me to paint,” Lance suggested.

“Only if you can teach me to act,” JC said, laughing.

“You don't want to do that,” Lance told him. “Acting's no art.”

“It is when you do it, Lance,” JC said, and he felt Lance give him a brief squeeze. “I know you're not hungry, but I am.” He started to get up.

“You don't have to cook,” Lance said.

“I'm not going to. The bakery on the corner makes the BEST croissants in the world,” JC said.

“And just how many bakeries have you been in around the world?” Lance teased.

“None,” JC said quietly. “I haven't been off the East Coast.”

“Well, that's gonna change,” Lance said, standing up as well. “After this movie premieres in the States, we'll have to go to Paris so you can get REAL pastry.”

“That would be nice,” JC said wistfully, though he knew it would never happen.

“We could get an apartment on the river,” Lance said, putting his head on JC's shoulder. “You could paint all day and I'll run for pastries.”

“And what will we do for money?” JC asked.

“We'll sell your paintings and be rich,” Lance said, sighing.

“I'll be right back.” JC kissed Lance's cheek and went to find his shoes. 

JC and Lance spent the morning in the living room, eating pastries and talking, but the afternoon was spent up in the bedroom. They made love again, then lay in bed watching old movies on Turner Classic Movies. “I've always wanted to make something like this,” Lance said with a sigh as another movie ended. “Something that lasts.”

“You do great movies,” JC told him. Lance put his head on JC's chest.

“Not like this. Do you know what this new movie's about? It's a thriller about a guy trapped in this wacked out insane asylum. Not exactly Oscar-winning material.”

“Then why did you do it?” JC asked gently.

Lance sighed. “Because I thought it would be different. I thought it would be my “Girl, Interrupted,” you know? Some kind of totally offbeat movie that would get me some new credibility. Now that I'm filming, I'm sorry I ever took the damn part.”

“So you have to do some screaming and wide-eyed fear,” JC said, shrugging. “The real fans won't care. Do what you want next time.”

“You know what I want to do? A homosexual love story,” Lance said with a sigh. “But the world isn't ready for that.”

“What else would you like to do?”

“I'd love to do a remake of Pygmalion,” Lance said, blushing. “About an artist who falls in love with his creation. But when it comes to life, it uses him and leaves…and then he's alone.”

“But finds love with his assistant,” JC suggested. “You could turn that into a homosexual story.”

“You're kidding,” Lance said, but he looked interested.

“Make it beautiful and not over the top and people will accept it.”

“And I could have some behind the scenes tutoring on being an artist,” Lance said, tickling JC's ribs. 

It was the best weekend of JC's life. Sunday morning he got up bright and early as he always did on Sundays, even after a night of passionate lovemaking. He loved to paint on a Sunday morning. By the time Lance joined him at ten-thirty, he was deep into his latest landscape.

“Beautiful,” Lance said, standing behind JC.

“God, Lance, I didn't even hear you come in,” JC gasped.

“Okay, I'm ready for my tutoring,” Lance said, putting down his coffee cup. “Learn me.”

JC grinned and set up a blank easel. “Just doodle for a while. Do what you want.”

“Okay. I'm ready to become the next Cassatt,” Lance said energetically.

JC tried not to watch what Lance was doing, but it was a disaster. “Uh, how's it coming?”

“Well…” Lance stared at the mass of color on his canvas. “I wanted it to be a house, but it looks like a hurricane.”

The doorbell rang and saved JC from making a true comment. “Keep at it. I'm gonna answer that.”

JC padded out to the door in bare feet, wondering if he should throw a t-shirt on. He normally painted in his oldest pair of sweatpants. He opened the door and blinked as flashbulbs went off. “Mr. Chasez! Mr. Chasez! How long have you and Lance Bass been seeing each other?” A voice yelled.

“Mr. Chasez…are you and Lance an item?”

“Mr. Chasez…did you ever have a threesome with Lance and AJ McLean?”

JC slammed the door and leaned against it, panting. “Who is it?” Lance called, walking up the hall from the studio. He smiled at the paleness of JC's face. “What's going on?”

“You don't want to open that, Lance,” JC said. His eyes roamed over Lance, who was wearing a pair of low-slung blue jeans. “Trust me.”

“Don't be silly, baby. Is it your mom or something?” Lance kissed JC's cheek as he gently shoved JC out of the way and opened the door.

“Mr. Bass! Are you going to stay with Mr. Chasez for the remainder of your time in town?”

“Mr. Bass! Are you and Mr. Chasez going on Oprah?”

Lance slammed the door. “Holy fuck! How the hell did they know I was here?”

“I didn't tell anyone, Lance!” JC promised.

“I don't fucking believe this.” Lance stormed upstairs to pack.

The phone rang and JC grabbed it. “Jayce…I kinda spent my rent money for the month,” Chris said. “Can you swing me? If not, I won't bother coming home. I don't want you killing me. But I saw the most awesome…”

“Chris, did you tell anyone you saw Lance here?”

“Just Nick…and maybe a couple of people at the store on the way up here. Why?”

“Chris, you ass!” JC slammed down the phone.

“Let me guess…your loser roommate?” Lance snapped as he came down the steps. He put his cellphone to his ear. “Kevin…yeah. I'm here. Come get me. Now.” He shoved his phone in his bag.

“I'm so sorry, Lance,” JC said, putting a hand on Lance's shoulder. Lance sat down on the steps.

“Please don't touch me, JC. Just don't talk to me.”

Lance sat in silence on the steps until Kevin came to the door. He left without another word to JC.

Fifteen