Happy Trickyfish Day!
I got home from Toronto yesterday afternoon. I'll tell you what, they sure don't hire US border/custom/whatever they are people for their sparkling personalities, do they? The guy I got mumbled so much that I had to ask him to repeat every single thing he said, including the request to open my trunk and the inquiry as to who the owner of my car was. Who knows what he thought I was doing. No eye contact, no hello or goodbye, just surly mumbling.
Thank the lord January is over. I'm a big believer, the older I get, in not wishing the time away, but I usually make an exception for January. Now there's just February and March to get through. I'm trying desperately to be positive here. Um, let's see. The snow is prettier than rain. White is brighter than gray. Ashley is coming home in two weeks, I hope, to go with me to Columbus to see Justin with Erin. Um, I should get my orthotics soon and then I can start running again, which should make me less inclined to kill everyone I come in contact with. Um, I don't have to work this month, and can spend lots of time writing that story that hit me in the car the other day.
Speaking of stories and of good things about February, today is Trickyfish Day. Against all odds, I managed to finish the story I started. I did it all this morning, actually. It's not everything I had to say, but I'm begining to think one story's not going to do it. Maybe not the happiest thing I've ever written, but not entirely bleak, if you squint at it. It's an expansion on one of the Five Things I wrote a ways back.
ETA: Icon from
turloughishere
Go enjoy Trickyfish Day over at
somebody2leanon,
Yes, cheesy song lyrics included. I don't seem to be able to help myself there. It's a sickness.
Long ago, and oh, so far away.
I fell in love with you, before the second show.
The Carpenters
There are maybe a few things Lance never wants Chris to know. He doesn’t want to tell him that his first time wasn't with the cute, blonde girl in Munich that Chris saw coming out of his room one night when it was Lance's turn to have the single. His first time was actually with the cute, blond boy in Berlin that Lance made damn sure nobody saw.
He also doesn’t want him to know that when Lance slid to his knees, unzipping the boy's jeans with trembling fingers, he wished it was Chris standing over him, one hand in his hair, the other coaxing his mouth open.
And Lance will never admit that even though Joey laughed so hard Lance thought he was going to choke, Lance thought the beard horns were the hottest thing ever.
He also never wants Chris to find out there was a time Lance was so naïve that the way Chris paid attention to him in the early days made Lance hope for things he knew he could never have.
The big thing, though, the one really big thing that Lance doesn’t want Chris to know is that it took years for Lance to stop hoping, and while he may have finally managed it, wanting is another matter entirely.
Although Lance is afraid the cat might be out of the bag on that one.
Chris has always had a way of attaching himself to Lance, arms tight around his waist, chest warm against Lance’s back.
Over the years, Lance has tolerated it, savored it, dreamed about it and dreaded it. Sometimes he hoped for it, sometimes he tried to avoid it.
But now, he just misses it.
Joey drags Chris across the room where they’re all standing around, waiting to be told what to do and where to go this weekend, over to an unoccupied corner, apart from everyone else. Joey looks for all the world like a refugee from The Sopranos, with his I’m serious here expression and his hand on Chris’s arm. He talks earnestly and quietly, like he’s trying to convince Chris to buy a time-share in Hawaii, or maybe to start talking to Lance again. Whatever. Chris looks over at Lance once or twice, but he doesn’t stop frowning.
Lance purposefully turns his back to them, laughing at something Alfonso’s saying, not thinking about Chris at all.
That night, Lance hurries his team through the bowling portion of the evening, wanting to spend time towards Joey’s end of the lanes, and away from Chris and Justin. Joey and Kelly are easy, and there’s the added benefit of Beverly and Joanna being down that way, too. Joanna is his obligatory pair of breasts for the weekend, and she’s a good enough friend that she’s willing to go through the motions for him. He doesn’t deserve her, he thinks. No one stares at him accusingly down at that end of the bowling alley, and it’s nice.
Lance thought JC wasn’t paying attention, but his lips are tight the next day when he watches Chris in the locker room before they go out for the shoot-around. Lance isn’t ready to tell JC. JC sees too much, at least he used to, and Lance isn’t ready for the pitying look in JC’s eyes. It’s not like JC will be shocked, he’ll just be surprised that Lance finally said it out loud. And then he’ll look quickly over at Chris before he can stop himself, and Lance needs more time to prepare before he’s ready to see the same soft, sad expression JC used to have whenever he glanced between Justin and Britney so many years ago.
But they’ve all spent too much time reading each other, even when they were careful not to say anything, for JC not to see that Chris is avoiding Lance. He’s not like Joey, he doesn’t approach Chris about it, but he’s not happy, and soon he’s avoiding them all and has apparently decided to embrace David Gallagher’s almost stalker-like infatuation as a diversion.
JC’s become a master of avoidance over the years. He’s almost as good at it as Lance is.
Justin is tentative. He’s never sure, when they’re all together, if they’re mad at him or not. Of course they’re not, but he’s still not sure. It makes him hold back, which makes Lance sad, but right now Justin’s sensibilities are the least of his concerns. Justin keeps opening his mouth and closing it again, looking earnestly worried. Lance has no idea if he and Chris talk about anything at all, let alone Lance, and Justin leaves Chicago early, to go back to LA and Cameron.
Lance is sorry to see him go.
When Lance finally lets himself into his room after the party, a little drunk and all alone because this is not a weekend for taking chances, Chris is waiting for him, sitting on the end of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. Lance’s heart jumps in his chest, and he tells himself it’s with surprise, not hope.
“Why now, Lance? Why’d you wait all this time, and then tell me now? Why tell me at all? And Joey’s known forever? I don’t get it.” Chris doesn’t look up from his hands, and his voice is low. He sounds honestly confused, like he really doesn’t know.
Lance closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he lets it out, he says, trying to keep his voice neutral, “Are you saying you didn’t already know? Come on, Chris.” And he’s surprised by it, but he’s angry. How could Chris not know him?
Chris looks up at that. He’s frowning, and Lance is really sick of that, he’s been looking at that frown all weekend. He turns away and says sharply, “Go back to your room, Chris.”
Chris stands up, but he doesn’t leave. He gets himself right in Lance’s face, right in his personal space, and says, “What else haven’t you told me, Lance?” It’s not quite belligerent, but it’s close enough.
“Nothing,” Lance says, pulling back. “Nothing at all.” He looks over Chris’s shoulder, focusing on the picture on the wall behind him.
“Bullshit,” Chris says firmly.
“Trust me on this one, Chris. You don’t want to know all my secrets.” Lance flushes at the bitterness in his voice. None of this is Chris’s fault. Things are what they are.
“You’re not the only one with secrets, you know,” Chris whispers, and he moves closer again, close enough for Lance to feel his breath, warm on his cheek.
Lance closes his eyes, keeping still, so close to caving and saying all the things he never has. He sighs. “That’s great and all, Chris. But could you just go away? There were reasons I didn’t say anything, and you should be able to figure that out. The band, the Russians, hell, my mom doesn’t even know.” He laughs humorlessly and says again, “My mom doesn’t even know.”
“I know why you haven’t come out, Lance,” Chris says. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”
Lance is really, really tired, and still a bit tipsy, and he just wants to sit down. He just wants to sleep this whole weekend off. “Please, Chris,” he pleads wearily. “Go away.”
Chris cocks his head to the side and studies Lance for a minute. Then he shrugs. “Whatever. Like I said, you’re not the only one with secrets.” He leans forward and kisses Lance, his lips brushing over Lance’s mouth briefly, and Lance doesn’t know what to do with that, so he does nothing. “Come on, Bass. Let’s get some sleep.”
Chris tugs on Lance’s arm, and they settle on the bed, Chris spooned behind him, warm and solid. Lance should get up, make Chris leave, but he can’t. He’s missed this too much, and he can’t bring himself to push Chris away.
Tomorrow, he thinks, as he falls asleep. Tomorrow I won’t tell him anything.
Thank the lord January is over. I'm a big believer, the older I get, in not wishing the time away, but I usually make an exception for January. Now there's just February and March to get through. I'm trying desperately to be positive here. Um, let's see. The snow is prettier than rain. White is brighter than gray. Ashley is coming home in two weeks, I hope, to go with me to Columbus to see Justin with Erin. Um, I should get my orthotics soon and then I can start running again, which should make me less inclined to kill everyone I come in contact with. Um, I don't have to work this month, and can spend lots of time writing that story that hit me in the car the other day.
Speaking of stories and of good things about February, today is Trickyfish Day. Against all odds, I managed to finish the story I started. I did it all this morning, actually. It's not everything I had to say, but I'm begining to think one story's not going to do it. Maybe not the happiest thing I've ever written, but not entirely bleak, if you squint at it. It's an expansion on one of the Five Things I wrote a ways back.
ETA: Icon from
turloughishere
Go enjoy Trickyfish Day over at
somebody2leanon,
Yes, cheesy song lyrics included. I don't seem to be able to help myself there. It's a sickness.
Long ago, and oh, so far away.
I fell in love with you, before the second show.
The Carpenters
There are maybe a few things Lance never wants Chris to know. He doesn’t want to tell him that his first time wasn't with the cute, blonde girl in Munich that Chris saw coming out of his room one night when it was Lance's turn to have the single. His first time was actually with the cute, blond boy in Berlin that Lance made damn sure nobody saw.
He also doesn’t want him to know that when Lance slid to his knees, unzipping the boy's jeans with trembling fingers, he wished it was Chris standing over him, one hand in his hair, the other coaxing his mouth open.
And Lance will never admit that even though Joey laughed so hard Lance thought he was going to choke, Lance thought the beard horns were the hottest thing ever.
He also never wants Chris to find out there was a time Lance was so naïve that the way Chris paid attention to him in the early days made Lance hope for things he knew he could never have.
The big thing, though, the one really big thing that Lance doesn’t want Chris to know is that it took years for Lance to stop hoping, and while he may have finally managed it, wanting is another matter entirely.
Although Lance is afraid the cat might be out of the bag on that one.
Chris has always had a way of attaching himself to Lance, arms tight around his waist, chest warm against Lance’s back.
Over the years, Lance has tolerated it, savored it, dreamed about it and dreaded it. Sometimes he hoped for it, sometimes he tried to avoid it.
But now, he just misses it.
Joey drags Chris across the room where they’re all standing around, waiting to be told what to do and where to go this weekend, over to an unoccupied corner, apart from everyone else. Joey looks for all the world like a refugee from The Sopranos, with his I’m serious here expression and his hand on Chris’s arm. He talks earnestly and quietly, like he’s trying to convince Chris to buy a time-share in Hawaii, or maybe to start talking to Lance again. Whatever. Chris looks over at Lance once or twice, but he doesn’t stop frowning.
Lance purposefully turns his back to them, laughing at something Alfonso’s saying, not thinking about Chris at all.
That night, Lance hurries his team through the bowling portion of the evening, wanting to spend time towards Joey’s end of the lanes, and away from Chris and Justin. Joey and Kelly are easy, and there’s the added benefit of Beverly and Joanna being down that way, too. Joanna is his obligatory pair of breasts for the weekend, and she’s a good enough friend that she’s willing to go through the motions for him. He doesn’t deserve her, he thinks. No one stares at him accusingly down at that end of the bowling alley, and it’s nice.
Lance thought JC wasn’t paying attention, but his lips are tight the next day when he watches Chris in the locker room before they go out for the shoot-around. Lance isn’t ready to tell JC. JC sees too much, at least he used to, and Lance isn’t ready for the pitying look in JC’s eyes. It’s not like JC will be shocked, he’ll just be surprised that Lance finally said it out loud. And then he’ll look quickly over at Chris before he can stop himself, and Lance needs more time to prepare before he’s ready to see the same soft, sad expression JC used to have whenever he glanced between Justin and Britney so many years ago.
But they’ve all spent too much time reading each other, even when they were careful not to say anything, for JC not to see that Chris is avoiding Lance. He’s not like Joey, he doesn’t approach Chris about it, but he’s not happy, and soon he’s avoiding them all and has apparently decided to embrace David Gallagher’s almost stalker-like infatuation as a diversion.
JC’s become a master of avoidance over the years. He’s almost as good at it as Lance is.
Justin is tentative. He’s never sure, when they’re all together, if they’re mad at him or not. Of course they’re not, but he’s still not sure. It makes him hold back, which makes Lance sad, but right now Justin’s sensibilities are the least of his concerns. Justin keeps opening his mouth and closing it again, looking earnestly worried. Lance has no idea if he and Chris talk about anything at all, let alone Lance, and Justin leaves Chicago early, to go back to LA and Cameron.
Lance is sorry to see him go.
When Lance finally lets himself into his room after the party, a little drunk and all alone because this is not a weekend for taking chances, Chris is waiting for him, sitting on the end of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. Lance’s heart jumps in his chest, and he tells himself it’s with surprise, not hope.
“Why now, Lance? Why’d you wait all this time, and then tell me now? Why tell me at all? And Joey’s known forever? I don’t get it.” Chris doesn’t look up from his hands, and his voice is low. He sounds honestly confused, like he really doesn’t know.
Lance closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he lets it out, he says, trying to keep his voice neutral, “Are you saying you didn’t already know? Come on, Chris.” And he’s surprised by it, but he’s angry. How could Chris not know him?
Chris looks up at that. He’s frowning, and Lance is really sick of that, he’s been looking at that frown all weekend. He turns away and says sharply, “Go back to your room, Chris.”
Chris stands up, but he doesn’t leave. He gets himself right in Lance’s face, right in his personal space, and says, “What else haven’t you told me, Lance?” It’s not quite belligerent, but it’s close enough.
“Nothing,” Lance says, pulling back. “Nothing at all.” He looks over Chris’s shoulder, focusing on the picture on the wall behind him.
“Bullshit,” Chris says firmly.
“Trust me on this one, Chris. You don’t want to know all my secrets.” Lance flushes at the bitterness in his voice. None of this is Chris’s fault. Things are what they are.
“You’re not the only one with secrets, you know,” Chris whispers, and he moves closer again, close enough for Lance to feel his breath, warm on his cheek.
Lance closes his eyes, keeping still, so close to caving and saying all the things he never has. He sighs. “That’s great and all, Chris. But could you just go away? There were reasons I didn’t say anything, and you should be able to figure that out. The band, the Russians, hell, my mom doesn’t even know.” He laughs humorlessly and says again, “My mom doesn’t even know.”
“I know why you haven’t come out, Lance,” Chris says. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”
Lance is really, really tired, and still a bit tipsy, and he just wants to sit down. He just wants to sleep this whole weekend off. “Please, Chris,” he pleads wearily. “Go away.”
Chris cocks his head to the side and studies Lance for a minute. Then he shrugs. “Whatever. Like I said, you’re not the only one with secrets.” He leans forward and kisses Lance, his lips brushing over Lance’s mouth briefly, and Lance doesn’t know what to do with that, so he does nothing. “Come on, Bass. Let’s get some sleep.”
Chris tugs on Lance’s arm, and they settle on the bed, Chris spooned behind him, warm and solid. Lance should get up, make Chris leave, but he can’t. He’s missed this too much, and he can’t bring himself to push Chris away.
Tomorrow, he thinks, as he falls asleep. Tomorrow I won’t tell him anything.