talk to me like lovers do
A while back there was the meme generator that gave words and pairings. The first try I got Chris and Justin, and purple soap shoe. The next try I got Chris and Lance and blood elf second. So I kind of combined them, and it led to this.
Thanks to tiggergirl who told me this didn't suck and it made her laugh. So blame her if it actually sucks and isn't funny.
Blood elf second
Purple soap shoe.
Lance just knew it was going to end badly. Probably with blood. Whoever gave Chris the knife, the bar of soap and instructions to prevent fidgeting on the bus by doing soap carvings deserved to be drawn and quartered with that same knife. Except it was Justin, and since Nick Carter wasn't available to take Justin's spot in the group, Lance figured he had to let Justin live unmaimed, so they were pretty much screwed. Come to think of it, being screwed by Chris or Justin or even, horrifyingly, Nick Carter, would be preferable to letting Chris try to whittle soap, or at least less likely to cause lasting physical damage involving a trip to the hospital and a long rehabilitation.
But when he tried to explain this to Chris, it all went horribly awry.
"You offering, Bass?" Chris looked just interested enough to kind of freak Lance out.
"You're so missing the point here, Chris." And he really was. Chris wouldn't mean to do any harm; it would just happen. People often described Chris as elfin, due to his stature and slightly pointy ears, but Lance knew he was more like an imp or a puck or a hobgoblin, one of those mythical creatures that liked to stir up trouble not out of malice, but just for trouble's sake.
"So you're just disparaging my soap carving skills?" Chris asked.
"Actually, that's sort of the point. You don't have any soap carving skills. And we're either going to go over a bump, and you're going to dismember yourself, or you're gonna get bored and forget there's a knife in your hand and accidentally dismember someone else. And since I'm pretty fond of my body like it is, all in one piece, and blood is really hard to get out of upholstery," Lance shrugged and held out his hand, "give me the knife."
Chris raised his work in progress, not that he'd really gotten that far yet, and waved the knife around just enough for Lance to contemplate trying to disarm Chris by force in order to stave off an unintentional bloodbath. "But look. It's going to be my masterpiece."
Lance held out his hand for the soap, hoping Chris's desire to show off would make him forget that Lance was trying to take the soap away.
"Unh unh unh. Look with your eyes, not with your hands."
"Thanks, Mom," Lance said dryly. "I can't tell what the hell it is with you moving it all over the place, except a purple blob."
Chris held it just out of reach but let Lance examine it. "So what do you think?"
"Sorry, but I still think it's a purple blob." Lance really wished he had been the one to get sick instead of Joey, so that he could be on the three-man bus with JC and Justin, who were also under the weather, instead of stuck here with the dagger-wielding wannabe Michaelangelo.
"It is not!" Chris was indignant, and started waving the knife around again. "Any idiot can see that it's a shoe, you moron."
"Your masterpiece is a purple soap shoe," Lance stated evenly.
"Oh, fuck you, you Neanderthal who can't appreciate great art. JC was so right when he called you an uncivilized cretin."
Lance shook his head. "He called you that, Chris, not me."
"Whatever. It takes one to know one," Chris snapped.
"Ooh, good one," Lance mocked. "Next you're going to say 'I know you are but what am I?' What are you, six?"
"Fuck you twice."
Lance looked thoughtful. "You know, I promised myself at the start of this thing that I'd never, ever sleep with any of you, but breaking that vow is sounding better and better the longer this conversation goes on."
"Liar."
"You won't know until you give me the knife." Lance held out his hand again, palm open and steady.
Chris seemed to be considering his options. For a long moment he stared Lance in the eye. Then he put both hands behind his back. "Nope. There's no way you'd break a vow like that over something so inconsequential. Like I could see it if maybe you had to or someone would hurt one of us-"
Lance couldn't hold back the laugh. "Yes, Chris, you're exactly right. Because so often one of us is threatened with bodily harm unless two of us fuck."
Chris scowled. "Hey, you never know with these deranged slash fans. They can be dangerous."
"Sure, if you say so." Lance kept his face bland. If he could irk Chris just a little bit more, he'd forget what they were arguing about, step close enough to get in Lance's face, and Lance would be able to get the knife. He wasn't worried about that part; he knew he could take Chris, especially because Chris wouldn't want to risk any stabbing accidents.
"They can be," Chris insisted. "You don't want to know how sick and twisted they can get."
"You know this how? Oh, because you've been reading it again." Lance watched Chris's eyes narrow and the slight flush creep up his collar and Lance knew he was right.
Like clockwork, Chris stepped forward until they were practically touching noses. "You got a problem with that? It's so fucking boring on the bus after a while I have to keep myself entertained somehow. Not all of us have companies to run and movies to ruin."
Lance would have been offended if he thought Chris was serious, but he was only blowing off steam, which was as much Lance's goal as disarming the guy. Instead, Lance grabbed Chris's arm as it swooped up from behind him and started down again, knife forgotten. He wasn't quite fast enough though, and in that split second, momentum carried Chris's arm slightly farther than Lance intended, the tip of it nicking his cheek. He stepped back, releasing Chris's arm, and brought his hand to his face.
Chris's eyes widened and he tossed the knife onto the table at which he had been working. "Oh, fuck! Lance."
Lance grinned. "Now you're offering after I already got you to put down the knife."
"But, but," Chris sputtered. "Your face."
"I've done worse shaving." Lance moved his hand so Chris could see that there was only a dot of blood, not the gashing wound Chris had feared. Lance moved to the table and picked up the knife. "I'm just gonna put this somewhere where it will only be used for the forces of good."
"Where's that?" Chris asked.
"In the kitchen for Joey-" Lance was interrupted by the ringing of his cell. It was Joe. "Hey," he answered, cleaning the knife and putting it away.
"How are you doing over there? Is Chris still in one piece or do you have him bound and gagged and locked in the bathroom?" Joey's voice was raspy with his cold.
Lance grinned evilly. "That is an excellent idea. Thanks." He glanced at Chris, who had returned to the couch and was absently tossing his disfigured soap from hand to hand.
"Lance." Joey could warn him in a word, but he was over on the other bus and sick as shit, so Lance wasn't intimidated.
"Go to bed," he said instead.
"Promise me you won't tie him up." Joey was persistent when he thought Lance was on the verge of crossing the line with one of the guys.
Lance chuckled. "I think he'd be into it."
"I will kick your ass-"
"You're delirious. Think about what you're saying. We both know he takes care of himself just fine." Lance smirked at Chris, who gave up pretending he wasn't listening.
Chris jumped to his feet. "I can, you know. I'll prove it, too," he promised.
Lance held up a hand to shush him. "Chris says thanks for thinking he's a pansy-ass. He's going to whomp yours when you're feeling better."
Joey gave a pitiful echo of a laugh. "Liar. I'm so staying out of this one."
Chris made a face at Lance, miming punching him. Lance ignored him. "Great. And I repeat, go to bed."
"I already am in bed."
"So sleep already."
"Fine."
Lance snapped his phone shut.
"So what did Joey have to say for himself?" Chris inquired.
Lance walked toward Chris. "He said that there was a deranged fan on their bus who's going to kill them all unless we fuck."
"Fuck you, fucker."
Lance stopped right in Chris's space. "That's the plan."
"What about your rule?"
"What rule?"
"About not sleeping with the rest of us."
"I just told you, they're gonna destroy the other guys unless we do this. I couldn't live with guilt of knowing we could have saved them if only we would have screwed. Could you?"
"You are such a liar."
"You'll never know unless you don't and they're dead. No more Justin. No more JC. No more Joey. Is it worth the risk?"
"You are one very twisted guy, Bass."
Lance shrugged.
"So you really wanna fuck?" Chris was staring at Lance like he could peer through the skin and muscle and sinew of him to examine his very thoughts.
Lance thought about lying some more; it came so easily to him. But then, this was Chris, and he could tell as well as Joey when Lance was spewing shit. The funny thing was, Lance knew that as long as he was honest, he wasn't going to be able to say anything that would fuck up his friendship with Chris. It might make it awkward as hell for a couple of days, but then Chris would forget they were in a weird phase and enlist Lance in a crazy prank and everything would snap back to normal. So Lance took a deep breath and replied, "Well, it will keep me occupied so I don't ruin any more movies. And after, we can cut up the purple soap and stick it in Justin's orifices while he sleeps."
"Will you give me the knife back to do it?"
"I can gut a deer. I think I can handle a bar of soap. Besides, the next time we might not be so lucky." Lance gestured at the dried blood spot on his cheek.
Chris held out his hand. "I'm really, really sorry about that. Let me make it up to you."
Lance took it.
Thanks to tiggergirl who told me this didn't suck and it made her laugh. So blame her if it actually sucks and isn't funny.
Blood elf second
Purple soap shoe.
Lance just knew it was going to end badly. Probably with blood. Whoever gave Chris the knife, the bar of soap and instructions to prevent fidgeting on the bus by doing soap carvings deserved to be drawn and quartered with that same knife. Except it was Justin, and since Nick Carter wasn't available to take Justin's spot in the group, Lance figured he had to let Justin live unmaimed, so they were pretty much screwed. Come to think of it, being screwed by Chris or Justin or even, horrifyingly, Nick Carter, would be preferable to letting Chris try to whittle soap, or at least less likely to cause lasting physical damage involving a trip to the hospital and a long rehabilitation.
But when he tried to explain this to Chris, it all went horribly awry.
"You offering, Bass?" Chris looked just interested enough to kind of freak Lance out.
"You're so missing the point here, Chris." And he really was. Chris wouldn't mean to do any harm; it would just happen. People often described Chris as elfin, due to his stature and slightly pointy ears, but Lance knew he was more like an imp or a puck or a hobgoblin, one of those mythical creatures that liked to stir up trouble not out of malice, but just for trouble's sake.
"So you're just disparaging my soap carving skills?" Chris asked.
"Actually, that's sort of the point. You don't have any soap carving skills. And we're either going to go over a bump, and you're going to dismember yourself, or you're gonna get bored and forget there's a knife in your hand and accidentally dismember someone else. And since I'm pretty fond of my body like it is, all in one piece, and blood is really hard to get out of upholstery," Lance shrugged and held out his hand, "give me the knife."
Chris raised his work in progress, not that he'd really gotten that far yet, and waved the knife around just enough for Lance to contemplate trying to disarm Chris by force in order to stave off an unintentional bloodbath. "But look. It's going to be my masterpiece."
Lance held out his hand for the soap, hoping Chris's desire to show off would make him forget that Lance was trying to take the soap away.
"Unh unh unh. Look with your eyes, not with your hands."
"Thanks, Mom," Lance said dryly. "I can't tell what the hell it is with you moving it all over the place, except a purple blob."
Chris held it just out of reach but let Lance examine it. "So what do you think?"
"Sorry, but I still think it's a purple blob." Lance really wished he had been the one to get sick instead of Joey, so that he could be on the three-man bus with JC and Justin, who were also under the weather, instead of stuck here with the dagger-wielding wannabe Michaelangelo.
"It is not!" Chris was indignant, and started waving the knife around again. "Any idiot can see that it's a shoe, you moron."
"Your masterpiece is a purple soap shoe," Lance stated evenly.
"Oh, fuck you, you Neanderthal who can't appreciate great art. JC was so right when he called you an uncivilized cretin."
Lance shook his head. "He called you that, Chris, not me."
"Whatever. It takes one to know one," Chris snapped.
"Ooh, good one," Lance mocked. "Next you're going to say 'I know you are but what am I?' What are you, six?"
"Fuck you twice."
Lance looked thoughtful. "You know, I promised myself at the start of this thing that I'd never, ever sleep with any of you, but breaking that vow is sounding better and better the longer this conversation goes on."
"Liar."
"You won't know until you give me the knife." Lance held out his hand again, palm open and steady.
Chris seemed to be considering his options. For a long moment he stared Lance in the eye. Then he put both hands behind his back. "Nope. There's no way you'd break a vow like that over something so inconsequential. Like I could see it if maybe you had to or someone would hurt one of us-"
Lance couldn't hold back the laugh. "Yes, Chris, you're exactly right. Because so often one of us is threatened with bodily harm unless two of us fuck."
Chris scowled. "Hey, you never know with these deranged slash fans. They can be dangerous."
"Sure, if you say so." Lance kept his face bland. If he could irk Chris just a little bit more, he'd forget what they were arguing about, step close enough to get in Lance's face, and Lance would be able to get the knife. He wasn't worried about that part; he knew he could take Chris, especially because Chris wouldn't want to risk any stabbing accidents.
"They can be," Chris insisted. "You don't want to know how sick and twisted they can get."
"You know this how? Oh, because you've been reading it again." Lance watched Chris's eyes narrow and the slight flush creep up his collar and Lance knew he was right.
Like clockwork, Chris stepped forward until they were practically touching noses. "You got a problem with that? It's so fucking boring on the bus after a while I have to keep myself entertained somehow. Not all of us have companies to run and movies to ruin."
Lance would have been offended if he thought Chris was serious, but he was only blowing off steam, which was as much Lance's goal as disarming the guy. Instead, Lance grabbed Chris's arm as it swooped up from behind him and started down again, knife forgotten. He wasn't quite fast enough though, and in that split second, momentum carried Chris's arm slightly farther than Lance intended, the tip of it nicking his cheek. He stepped back, releasing Chris's arm, and brought his hand to his face.
Chris's eyes widened and he tossed the knife onto the table at which he had been working. "Oh, fuck! Lance."
Lance grinned. "Now you're offering after I already got you to put down the knife."
"But, but," Chris sputtered. "Your face."
"I've done worse shaving." Lance moved his hand so Chris could see that there was only a dot of blood, not the gashing wound Chris had feared. Lance moved to the table and picked up the knife. "I'm just gonna put this somewhere where it will only be used for the forces of good."
"Where's that?" Chris asked.
"In the kitchen for Joey-" Lance was interrupted by the ringing of his cell. It was Joe. "Hey," he answered, cleaning the knife and putting it away.
"How are you doing over there? Is Chris still in one piece or do you have him bound and gagged and locked in the bathroom?" Joey's voice was raspy with his cold.
Lance grinned evilly. "That is an excellent idea. Thanks." He glanced at Chris, who had returned to the couch and was absently tossing his disfigured soap from hand to hand.
"Lance." Joey could warn him in a word, but he was over on the other bus and sick as shit, so Lance wasn't intimidated.
"Go to bed," he said instead.
"Promise me you won't tie him up." Joey was persistent when he thought Lance was on the verge of crossing the line with one of the guys.
Lance chuckled. "I think he'd be into it."
"I will kick your ass-"
"You're delirious. Think about what you're saying. We both know he takes care of himself just fine." Lance smirked at Chris, who gave up pretending he wasn't listening.
Chris jumped to his feet. "I can, you know. I'll prove it, too," he promised.
Lance held up a hand to shush him. "Chris says thanks for thinking he's a pansy-ass. He's going to whomp yours when you're feeling better."
Joey gave a pitiful echo of a laugh. "Liar. I'm so staying out of this one."
Chris made a face at Lance, miming punching him. Lance ignored him. "Great. And I repeat, go to bed."
"I already am in bed."
"So sleep already."
"Fine."
Lance snapped his phone shut.
"So what did Joey have to say for himself?" Chris inquired.
Lance walked toward Chris. "He said that there was a deranged fan on their bus who's going to kill them all unless we fuck."
"Fuck you, fucker."
Lance stopped right in Chris's space. "That's the plan."
"What about your rule?"
"What rule?"
"About not sleeping with the rest of us."
"I just told you, they're gonna destroy the other guys unless we do this. I couldn't live with guilt of knowing we could have saved them if only we would have screwed. Could you?"
"You are such a liar."
"You'll never know unless you don't and they're dead. No more Justin. No more JC. No more Joey. Is it worth the risk?"
"You are one very twisted guy, Bass."
Lance shrugged.
"So you really wanna fuck?" Chris was staring at Lance like he could peer through the skin and muscle and sinew of him to examine his very thoughts.
Lance thought about lying some more; it came so easily to him. But then, this was Chris, and he could tell as well as Joey when Lance was spewing shit. The funny thing was, Lance knew that as long as he was honest, he wasn't going to be able to say anything that would fuck up his friendship with Chris. It might make it awkward as hell for a couple of days, but then Chris would forget they were in a weird phase and enlist Lance in a crazy prank and everything would snap back to normal. So Lance took a deep breath and replied, "Well, it will keep me occupied so I don't ruin any more movies. And after, we can cut up the purple soap and stick it in Justin's orifices while he sleeps."
"Will you give me the knife back to do it?"
"I can gut a deer. I think I can handle a bar of soap. Besides, the next time we might not be so lucky." Lance gestured at the dried blood spot on his cheek.
Chris held out his hand. "I'm really, really sorry about that. Let me make it up to you."
Lance took it.