Dream of Alaska
by Kittie

Chris found the notebook completely by accident.

Well, actually, finding it hadn't been an accident, since he'd sort of been looking for it. But he'd thought it was JC's new songbook, and JC never minded them flipping through his songbooks. So even though he had deliberately hunted it down and opened it with every intention of reading it, it was still an accident. Because the notebook he'd found wasn't JC's songbook at all.

Admittedly, he should have stopped reading the second he'd realized his mistake. That would have been the honest and noble thing to do. But Chris had never been accused of being honest and noble, and besides, it was really good reading. So, when JC wandered into the living room of his suite, Chris was still reading. And maybe laughing a little bit.

He was so absorbed that it came as a complete surprise to him when JC grabbed the notebook, punched him in the nose, and stalked out of the room.

~*~

It took Chris 10 minutes to stop the bleeding and change into a clean shirt, and by then, JC was long gone. Instead, he found Joey looming in the doorway, looking strangely menacing.

"What the hell did you do to JC?" Joey growled, blocking the way as Chris tried to push past him.

Chris tried to explain that it really wasn't his fault, but he only got punched in the nose again.

~*~

This time it took him 15 minutes to stop the bleeding and change into a clean shirt, but Chris was on a mission. He was determined to find JC and explain everything, and even grovel at his feet for forgiveness if he had to. And also to compliment him on his mean left hook.

He'd told Joey it was JC's journal that he'd accidentally read, but that wasn't precisely true. If it had been a journal, JC would have been writing down things that had actually happened to him, like that time last month when Justin had gotten all jealous of Britney's "relationship" with Fred Durst and wanted to put a hit out on him, and JC'd had to talk him down.

This notebook had stuff in it that had definitely never happened, unless Chris had somehow been sucked into an alternate universe while he slept. Plus, it was all written in third person, like a story, and JC's cock was 13 inches long. Chris had seen JC's cock, and while it was quite impressive, it most certainly was not 13 inches long. He'd give him 11 inches, tops. Plus, the last time Chris had checked, JC had never been able to bring himself to hold a decent conversation with Sting, much less an ongoing and fulfilling romantic relationship.

He pondered this as he dry-swallowed three aspirin to make the pain of his throbbing nose more bearable. They'd all known about JC's intense admiration for Sting, and they'd all suspected that JC might be just a little bit gay. While being in a boyband pretty much mandated wearing fur and sparkles and all kinds of outfits normally only worn by drag queens, JC seemed to enjoy it just a bit too much. Plus there was the whole business of being "buddies" with all kinds of hot chicks. None of them were entirely sure, but they thought maybe "buddy" was JC's code word for "fag hag."

Not that there was anything wrong with that.

In fact, if he really thought about it, Chris thought there was a slim possibility that he, himself, had some gay in him. Not an excess of gay, just a little bit. Because he really liked tits. Like, a lot. But he also really liked asses, and sometimes he'd catch himself looking at an ass that belonged to a guy. And maybe he'd spent a little too much time sneaking peeks at the other guys' naked bodies when they had to change in close quarters. But he tried not to do that too much, because it made him feel like a dirty old man.

So JC being gay was not a huge deal to him. It was actually kind of a relief to have proof, as though the universe had suddenly snapped into alignment, or something. However, the pain in his nose and the sinking feeling that this was not something JC would forgive easily kept him from enjoying the sudden clarity the way he'd have liked to.

His first few attempts at begging JC's forgiveness were curtailed before they'd even begun, as every time he started to leave his room, he'd find another member of the group standing outside the door ready to punch him again. After the third time he slammed the door to block a fist, he started to get annoyed. Weren't these guys supposed to be his friends, too? Why were they all assuming he'd deliberately set out to hurt and embarrass JC? Sure, he was fond of a good prank now and again, and maybe he had stolen Lance's journal that one time, photocopied it, and taped the juicy bits of it all over the backstage area at one of their concerts. But that was at least a month ago and he'd matured since then. Besides, this was JC and that was Lance. It was like comparing apples and tube socks.

Finally, at close to 3:00 a.m., after he'd watched two porn movies and eaten every scrap of snack food he'd stashed in his various suitcases, he timidly opened the door to find the hallway deserted. He tiptoed out—not because he was scared of them, but mostly just because he'd run out of clean shirts—and headed for JC's room.

He had to knock for several minutes, quietly calling JC's name and begging to be let in before the door finally swung open and JC stood glaring out at him, his hair rumpled with sleep and with pillow lines on his face. "What?!"

"Um...." Chris stepped back and shuffled his feet on the carpeted floor, suddenly feeling very small. "Sorry?"

JC rolled his eyes but turned and walked back into the room, leaving the door open. Chris took that as an invitation to come in, so he did, closing the door behind him. "No, really, I am," he continued, following JC over to his bed and perching on the end of it, trying to look contrite. "See, I didn't mean to read it. I was looking for your songbook, see, and I thought that was it. I didn't know you had a journal. Or... whatever."

JC blushed a furious red and hurriedly turned off the light, plunging the room into almost pitch darkness. "Shut up," he mumbled, voice muffled as though he was speaking from under a pile of blankets.

"I wasn't laughing at you," Chris tried hesitantly, reaching out in the dark and placing his hand on what he hoped was JC's knee, or something. "Everybody has fantasies, C. You don't have to be embarrassed about it. I thought it was kind of cool. I mean, it was a good story, you know? I might have believed it if I didn't know better." He paused, then decided to go out on a limb and tease just a little. "Well, except for that tiny exaggeration about the size of your dick. I've seen it, man, and while it is quite impressive, it's not super-human."

JC made a small noise that might have been a choked-off giggle, so Chris took that as encouragement and continued, warming to the topic. "But anyway, aside from that, it was really well written and not stupid at all, and I swear on my grandmother's grave that I will not tell the other guys about it, ever."

JC was quiet for a long while, and Chris held his breath, anxious to be forgiven. He could handle the sore nose no problem, and was used to people being annoyed with him for some reason or another, but he really hated the thought that he had truly hurt one of his best friends. "JC? Please?"

JC sighed and pulled the blankets down so just his eyes were visible. "You absolutely swear never to ever say anything to anybody? Not even Justin?"

"Pinky-swear," Chris swore, quickly extending his pinky and accidentally poking JC in the forehead. "Sorry! Sorry, sorry!"

JC giggled and swatted at his hand, grabbing Chris's pinky as he tried to pull back. "Okay, okay!" He paused, still holding onto Chris' finger. "So, um.... You're not mad?"

Chris wrinkled his nose, but only for a second, because damn, that hurt. "Mad? What for?"

"You know.... About the story."

"Why should it make me mad? Sting's a cool guy, and let's face it, 'C, we all kinda suspected you were gay. It's pretty obvious."

"Sting?!" JC sat up abruptly, startling Chris and sending him tumbling to the floor. Chris yelped in pain as JC vaulted out of bed, turned on the lights, and snatched up the notebook he'd shoved deep into one of his duffle bags. He flipped through the first few pages of the book, his face growing redder and redder. "Oh, right," he finally said weakly. "Sting."

Chris stared up at him from the floor, frowning in confusion. "JC...."

"Nothing!" JC said quickly, dropping the notebook and hurriedly turning the lights back off.

"No, wait, you have another notebook, don't you?" Chris pressed, standing slowly and groping his way back onto the bed. "One with a story like that, but about someone else." He thought back, replaying their conversation in his head. "About one of us!"

"No!" JC was back under the blankets, his voice shrill. "That's stupid!"

"But you asked if I was mad! And why would I be mad unless I was, like, defending someone's honor, or something? And whose honor would I defend unless it was one of us? Let's see, it can't be Joey, because as much as you seem to love draping yourself all over him, you wouldn't expect me to want to defend what little honor he's got left. Is it Lance? Or, ooh! No, it's Justin, isn't it? And you were worried because you thought I'd get all weird about him being ten when you met him!"

"It's not Justin!" JC wailed. "And he was eleven!"

"Lance, huh?" Chris shook his head in sympathy and patted the JC-shaped lump huddled under the covers. "Sorry, 'C. Can you believe he's actually straight? Like, for real?"

"It's not Lance," JC mumbled, curling himself into an even tinier ball of misery.

"But there's nobody left!" Chris furrowed his brow and thought hard, then gasped in shocked surprise. "It's Britney, isn't it?"

"What?!" JC sat straight up, clutching the covers to his chest and banging his forehead into Chris's already sore nose.

The next few minutes were a haze of pain and blood for Chris. There was a strange roaring noise in his ears, beneath which he could hear a pathetic, high-pitched sort of whimpering that he really hoped wasn't him, but he kind of thought it might be. When he finally came to himself, he was on the bathroom floor, propped up against the counter with an ice-filled towel held to his nose by a tired and contrite-looking JC.

"Britney's a girl," JC said, when he realized Chris was coherent again.

"Ungh?" Chris said, blinking owlishly.

JC sighed and dropped his eyes. "I don't like girls."

"Oh. Okay." Chris closed his eyes and waited for his head to stop pounding. There was something here he just wasn't getting, but his head hurt too badly to worry about it. He thought his nose might be broken.

"Thestorywasaboutyou," JC said, his voice high and breathy. Then he took Chris's hand, curled the lax fingers around the makeshift ice-pack, and bolted.

Chris sat stock still on the bathroom floor and wondered how much a plane ticket to Alaska would cost.

~*~

Chris managed to get himself to the hospital and back without alerting security and without attracting any fans. He figured it was because he had two black eyes and a swollen, oozy nose. No fan in her right mind would ever approach a guy who looked as gross as he did, even if she did have suspicions about who he was.

He had decided against fleeing to Alaska, though the idea had been very tempting, mostly because he really did hate to fly. And also because Lance would find him and drag him back and probably give him a big lecture about maturity and responsibility while he was at it. And then Johnny would have a go at him, and his mom.... So, no, Alaska was not a very good idea. Maybe Montana. At least then, he wouldn't have to fly on a plane.

He stepped off the elevator on his floor and nearly banged into someone. A very tall, very dark, very angry sort of someone. "Oh, hey, Bi' Mike," he mumbled, craning his neck to try to see the man's face. "Howsit goin', man?"

Big Mike grabbed him by the back of his collar and dragged him down the hallway.

Chris started contemplating Alaska again.

~*~

Three lectures later, Chris was finally left alone in his room. He stripped off his clothes slowly, taking care not to make any sudden movements, or jar his nose in any way. Then he crawled into bed and closed his eyes, praying for at least a little bit of uninterrupted sleep. He was pretty sure he remembered Johnny saying he didn't have to make any public appearances until his face was presentable, but he wasn't entirely sure. That might have just been wishful thinking.

Apparently, the idea of getting any sleep was also wishful thinking, because just as he was starting to doze off, his door opened and Joey poked his head into the room.

"Hey, uh.... Chris?" He stepped inside, followed by Justin and Lance. "You awake, man?"

"Nguh," Chris managed.

"I'm um.... I'm really sorry I hit you, dude," Joey said, shuffling his feet nervously. "I didn't mean to break your nose."

Justin nodded vigorously. "Me, too. I mean, I didn't hit you, but I tried to. So I'm real sorry."

"Yeah," Lance added. "Same."

Chris frowned. Stupid Bass never could manage a proper apology. "Wasn' you," said finally, by way of acceptance. "Was 'C."

"JC broke your nose?!" Justin gasped.

"Yeah. Bu' y'still shouldnda hit me."

"No more hitting, man, I promise!" Joey started backing out of the room, and the other two followed his lead.

"Pinky-swear?" Chris said, but fell asleep before he heard the answer.

~*~

JC was in his bed when he woke up. Well, not in it. On it, really. He was sitting cross-legged on top of the comforter, one hand on Chris's shoulder.

He smiled weakly when he saw that Chris was awake. "Hi."

"Hey," Chris said, blinking sleepily.

"I, um.... I'm sorry about your nose."

"Yeah." Chris almost shrugged, but decided it would take too much effort. "You been to Alaska?"

"What?" JC frowned. "No. Why?"

"Hmmm."

"Look, Chris, I...." JC cleared his throat, his cheeks going pink. "I'm sorry I hit you, and I'm sorry about last night, and I'd really appreciate it if you just forgot everything I said, alright? Just... never speak of it again."

"Don' wanna," Chris said, taking JC's arm as he started to stand and pulling at him until he was lying down with his head on the pillow next to Chris's. "Stay, stay."

JC squirmed a bit, but just enough to get into a position more comfortable than the one he'd sprawled in, "Okay," he said quietly.

Chris closed his eyes again and curled up close to JC. "This story about me. Do we get naked a lot?"

JC stiffened. "I... what?"

"Can I read it? How big did you say my dick was? I want to be 13 inches, like you."

JC laughed a little, and relaxed against him. "Oh. Um... I think I said you were 9 inches."

"Hmmm. S'okay. Find out for sure, soon."

JC's breath hitched. "Yeah. Soon."

Chris fell asleep with a smile on his face, and didn't dream of Alaska.

End

Email: kittie.verdena@gmail.com