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Entry tags:
In Vino Veritas, JC/Lance, PG13
Title: In Vino Veritas
Fandom: Popslash
Pairing: Lance/JC
Rating: PG-13ish. Maybe?
Disclaimer: Okay, NO. I don't know anyone, I *seriously* doubt this is happening, and even if it was, I'm pretty sure we wouldn't be getting the details. Fiction, yes? Yes.
A/N: My contribution for the Junebug Challenge, graciously hosted and administered by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catviret.
Also on AOOO, here.
Auctions were evil--the devil's work, as Lance's granddaddy would say. Auctions benefiting worthy causes and starting with three hours of tasting the wine about to be bid on were especially depraved, Lance decided, as he checked his math for the fourth time and still came up with receipts totaling six figures.
Clearly, his competitive streak had gotten a little out of hand, but that didn't mean Joey had to laugh so hard he had to lay down. Or rat him out to Chris as soon as he left Lance's.
"Damn, Bass," Chris drawled, and had Joey even gotten out to the street before he'd called Chris? "A hundred and twenty-four thousand?"
"Don't even start," Lance snapped. "I know where all the bikes are buried, metaphorically speaking."
"Lance," Chris said, with that false patience that meant Lance had just set himself up. "I completely agree that I might have--by normal standards--an excessive number of bikes, but--and this is a big but, critical, even--I can tell the difference between a Harley and a Suzuki. Have you gotten past red and white yet?"
"Fuck off," Lance muttered. He should have known better than to have even answered the phone.
"Dude, seriously. Six figures? That's a hell of a lot of grape juice."
"It wasn't just wine," Lance muttered. "There was some, some artwork." Chris snorted, and Lance really couldn't counter it because, well, yeah. It did sound pretty stupid in the cold hard light of day. "And a trip. For two." For a weekend, but it was for a long weekend. And it was for one of the small, boutique vineyards and its accompanying winery, where they only sold by subscription.
"Yeah, that's good, considering how your currently single state is probably the real reason behind all this."
"Huh?" Lance said, which was fairly pathetic, but it was early--earlyish, at least--and he was as hung over as hell.
"You and Jack, man, you've been quite the party friends since you and the flyboy went up in flames. And when it's not Jack, it's whatever's in the closest bottle."
"That's rich, coming from you," Lance answered, putting as much snide into it as he could, which, granted, wasn't a whole lot. Red wine was almost as bad as tequila the next morning.
"You telling me you didn't have a glass in your hand two minutes after you walked into that auction?" Chris shot back, sharp and relentless. "And that it never was empty for longer than it took you to reach for the bottle you had on your table? Want me to guess how many dead soldiers there were by the time you left? And you goddamn better be telling me you had a driver."
Lance was going to live to be a hundred and Chris would be a hundred and eight and still reading him the riot act about shit. "Yeah," Lance answered, quietly. "Of course."
"Yeah," Chris sighed. "Sorry, man, I knew that. You're just starting to worry me, Bass. You're not bouncing back here. We're still stuck in the drink-heavily-and-screw-the-twinks phase of recovery and that should have ended months ago."
Lance snorted. "Yeah, no shit. Apparently, I'm going for the all-time title…you know, the one you still hold."
"That's supposed to make me feel better? Hell, kid, at least we were on tour and my reckless spending was limited to a couple hundred bucks in CDs. You keep this up much longer and we're gonna be shipping you off to the former-teen-idol halfway house."
"I'm okay, Chris," Lance sighed, and hated how pathetic he sounded. "Really. Mom'll love some of this stuff, and I got myself a hell of a wine cellar now, and I'll think of something to do with the trip."
"Get Joe to buy it from you. He can score some points with the missus."
"I'm thinking Joey can do his own leg work," Lance said.
"Ah, c'mon, Bass; don't be holding a grudge. He didn't mean to laugh so hard he choked."
"And he accidentally speed-dialed you the second I hung up on his sorry ass, too, right?" Lance didn't wait for an answer. "I could take you, but you'd embarrass the fuck out of me, just for fun."
Chris laughed. "I live to serve, you know that."
"Maybe C'd want to go," Lance mused.
"Foul," Chris said. "Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, give it a rest, Bass."
"Oh, you give it a rest. I'm fine."
"Sure," Chris said. "Fine. Whatever. At least I'll be on the other side of the fucking country when it all blows up."
"Works for me," Lance snapped. "Because I sure as hell haven't gotten by on my own up 'til now. C and I, we're fine; we've always been fine; thanks for calling; I'm going to take a shower."
Chris was still squawking when Lance hung up, and Lance knew he hadn't heard the last of it, but even after all these years, he still got a nice glow when he managed to get Chris all spun up about something.
---
Lance and Justin rarely ended up at the same events and even when they did, Lance was fairly certain the event planners had them on a list somewhere, with everyone else who needed special handling, all the other ex-husbands and ex-girlfriends and deals-gone-bad. Lance didn't actually care, but it wasn't particularly worth the energy to convince people that whatever bad blood there was between them wasn't really enough to warrant restraining orders. Every now and then, though, they wound up in the same room without Joey running interference and it was fine. Lance was polite; Justin was polite and they could generally fill at least ten minutes with vague chat. If they stood around longer, they could always pretend to reminisce. It was a pattern and it worked and the two of them were all about the stuff that worked, which was why Lance almost dropped his glass of champagne when Justin came up to him at the week's hot opening and said, "I think you should do the trip thing with C."
"Um, what?" Lance stared. "Hi, Justin. Nice to see you, too."
"Oh, yeah, hi," Justin said, laughing at himself. "I had dinner with Joey and Kel the other day and Joe was going on about that auction you guys went to and all, and I kinda forgot I hadn't been talking to you, too." He waved his hands and shrugged. "Sorry. I mean, yeah, how're things? How was Broadway?"
"It was good," Lance said. "Fun. Weird."
"You still freaked about solos?" Justin grabbed two glasses of champagne from a waiter and shoved one in Lance's hand.
"No," Lance sighed. "I'm fine."
"Good," Justin answered. "Because that shit was stupid ten years ago."
"Thanks," Lance said, dryly. "I think." Justin opened his mouth to explain or expand or whatever he felt was necessary and since Lance wasn't particularly in the mood for a Justin pep-talk, he said, quickly, "Back to JC?"
"Yeah, C." Justin drained his glass. "He's, just, you know, floating around, doing his thing and hanging out and all. I figure if that's all he's doing, he might as well be hanging out with somebody who won't be waving some new shiny thing in his face--"
"Justin," Lance interrupted. "I didn't really mean it." He sighed. "I was just thinking out loud with Chris, and then he told Joey and…"
Justin laughed, and if it sounded a little forced, Lance wasn't going to call him on it. "And the group grapevine still works at the speed of sound."
"Some things never do change, I guess," Lance said, then realized how that sounded. Justin just shrugged, though, and didn't leave. They stood around and watched the increasingly drunken crowd.
"So, uh, things are going okay?" Justin asked. "Since, uh, since you broke up with, y'know..." Lance snorted. "I mean, you're going out and all, Joe says. Having a good time."
"Yes, J, I'm going out, and yes, having a good time."
"Yeah, good, good." Justin snuck a look at Lance. "Not like crazy, though, right?"
"No, Justin, I have not yet lost the sense God gave me and brought a bartender or a waiter or a stripper home with me." Lance thought about it for a second, before adding, "Not that there haven't been a few who wouldn't have jumped at the chance."
"Oh, yeah, you're quite the catch, Bass."
"I'm flattered that you noticed, straight boy that you are," Lance said dryly, and the entire conversation should have been driving him insane, but it was oddly comforting.
"Straight, vanilla, completely unbent...I am comfortable in my blandness," Justin answered, unperturbed, and Lance grinned and shook his head. Justin grinned back. "Okay, look, I gotta go, but seriously, I think you should do the thing with C." Justin waved and nodded at someone who'd been trying to catch his attention. "Really, man, he'd love it, and what the hell else are you gonna do with it?" He gave Lance quick hug and dove back into the crowd.
Lance watched him disappear and went for another glass of champagne; Justin was Justin and it was always odd what brought him out of his focused zone, but Lance thought it might have been the weirdest conversation he'd had in a long time.
---
Lance thought about it off and on for a couple of weeks, even going so far as to offer the whole thing to Stacey for an anniversary present, but she and Ford couldn't make their schedules work. And, Stacey was sweet about it and all, and Ford was seriously one of the best guys Lance knew, but visiting a vineyard really wasn't on the top of his list of things to do. Lance wasn't sure it was on his own list of things he wanted to do, so he could certainly understand Ford.
Finally, after dodging three separate phone calls from the marketing director at the winery, who was being incredibly patient and polite and accommodating, but who clearly needed to schedule something, Lance sat down at his desk faced the facts. Having the stupid thing just sitting around, waiting for him to make a decision about it was punching all kinds of buttons he'd been working hard to ignore. Yeah, sure, he had a great--awesome--life, with tons of friends and no lack of interest on the dating front, but there really wasn't anyone Lance could think of that he wanted to invite. So. If he wasn't taking someone he was dating, he could give the trip to Joey and Kelly or he could ask a friend. If he asked a friend, it would have to be someone that paparazzi knew already, or they'd have a field day, which meant Shannon or Jamie Lyn.
Or JC.
Lance thought about it. A lot. Chris was a pain in the ass, but he had a valid, if small--miniscule--point, but the only reason he knew anything was because he was incredibly annoying when he was drunk and Lance had let a little too much slip between the seventh and eighth rounds the last time they were in Vegas. So, yes, Lance hadn't really ever done anything about it, but he'd been crushing on JC the whole time they were together as a group. But, that was then, he assured himself. It had started long before he was even admitting things to himself. This was now and there were far worse things than a weekend of drinking wine and hanging out with C. It was the perfect birthday present for JC--expensive, but worth it. Something he'd never do for himself, not just a thing but an experience…it hit all the right notes.
It was lame and cheesy as hell, and Lance was fairly certain he'd done something similar in junior high when life had still been about who you could ask to the Homecoming Dance, but the look on JC's face when he opened the birthday card and the little slip of paper Lance had clipped from the auction catalog fluttered to his lap was been almost worth the five figures right there. JC beamed and said of course he'd go. Lance congratulated himself on finding a simple, elegant solution to what was in reality a drunken spending spree and settled down to work out the dates with JC and the marketing director at the winery.
---
JC, of course, completely forgot about everything. Anticipating this, Lance arrived the night before their flight to coax, cajole and bully him out of the studio. JC resisted to the bitter end, but with two hours to spare, Lance finally got him to throw some clothes into a carry-on and shoved him into the cab.
The flight up to San Francisco was smooth and quiet enough that they both could nap and the drive to Russian River was more relaxed than Lance would have dreamed possible. JC clicked off the work part of his brain and sprawled back in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard, and when Lance looked over, he could practically see the stress dropping off him in waves. Lance didn't even bitch at him about how unsafe he was being, just reached over and cranked the stereo and paid attention to the directions he'd been given.
JC smiled at him and Lance knew he'd made the right decision.
---
36 hours later
"Lance!"
Lance pulled the pillow over his head, even though he knew it was hopeless. This had turned out to be the stupidest idea ever, ever, and the worst part about it all, Lance thought, was that it was his own damn fault. He should have known anything Justin thought was a good idea was doomed.
It was so early it was still dark outside, the alarm was drilling straight into his head, every muscle in his body ached, his head was pounding with that special force that a bottle and a half of red wine could give and he couldn't wait until he could get Justin on the phone and scream about it.
"Cat, come on," JC continued, ripping the pillows and the covers away, leaving Lance with no protection from the force of his exuberance. "We've got just enough time for breakfast before we get to go back out to the vines."
And that was it in a nutshell. Before they "got" to go back out to the vines. A winery weekend wasn't supposed to include hard labor. At least, not if you were paying, oh God, Lance didn't even want to think about how much he'd paid for this.
Lance looked at JC, nearly bouncing with excitement at the foot of the bed, and stifled a groan. Definitely the stupidest idea he'd ever had.
---
Lance was never going to look at a glass of pinot noir the same way again. In fact, if he had his way—and Lance always got his way when things were this serious—he was never going to so much as look at a glass of pinot noir again. There was serious doubt as to whether he'd ever buy another bottle of wine of any kind. Bourbon was more his drink anyway. He needed to fucking remember that next time.
It wasn't just getting out of bed before dawn, so they could start picking grapes as soon as it was light enough to see. That was bad, but JC had been there with a giant cup of coffee and one of the big prescription ibuprofens Lance knew he'd lived on during his tour and something like muscle memory had kicked in, enough so that Lance was moving on auto-pilot. Even if Lance was never going to admit it, once he got going, he was actually enjoying moving through the rows of grapevines. The sun was warm; the air crisp and clear, perfumed with the sharp, sweet tang of the grapes that broke as he dropped the clusters into the big forty pound buckets.
All of that was okay. Well, except for the way his back was killing him from having to bend over. What was really fueling his anti-wine determination was getting to watch JC be all but pawed by one Jean-Claude Seibert. Lance had had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes right from the first night, when Jean-Claude had introduced himself with a negligent wave of his hands and the comment, "Vintner is so…pretentious, yes? I like to say that I am simply a winemaker."
JC had smiled--politely, Lance had wanted to note; certainly not even close to one of his big, really happy smiles--and Jean-Claude had zeroed right in on him and now the entire situation had degenerated to the point of Lance barely managing to keep from slapping those elegant hands away from where they were showing JC how to "feel the ripeness of the grape."
Lance almost choked upon hearing that, but managed to turn it into a semi-convincing cough when JC turned around to check on him. "I'm fine," he muttered. He wondered if the auction would accept the lots he'd won as a donation for next year's event.
---
"Lance," Joey said, and whatever else was wrong with this weekend, the cell phone reception was excellent. Lance could practically hear Joey grinding his teeth. "I'm not seeing the problem here. Sleep in tomorrow. Let C go play in the mud. Take the car and go find someplace to shop or something."
"But—"
"No buts about it, man." If Joey had been in arm's distance, Lance had no doubts that he'd have had his head smacked. "C'll have a much better time if you're not sulking—"
Lance tried to interrupt, but Joey just talked louder. "Sulking in the background. Don't tell me you're not, man."
"Yeah, well, I'd like to see you out there at six in the morning," Lance muttered.
"Oh, no way," Joey said cheerfully. "If I'd spent that much money to go pick grapes, Kelly would have cut my nuts off before I woke up the next morning. I'd be dead, but I wouldn't be out there."
It was impossible for Lance to stay mad at Joey; it was an accepted fact in their insular world, but it was important to at least save face. "Fine," Lance said. "Thanks for the advice."
"Anytime, man," Joey said, and Lance didn't for a second believe he was as oblivious as he sounded. He made a mental note to come up with something especially nasty for Joey's next birthday, quite possibly involving Briahna and a puppy.
"Talk to you later," Lance answered, feeling marginally better at the thought of Joey having to deal with Kelly's reaction to housebreaking something very small and very noisy.
---
Lance took Joey's advice and announced that he'd be skipping the final morning's harvest in favor of some quality time with his favorite down pillows, the ones that traveled with him everywhere. JC stared at him for a long minute before he shrugged and said, "Okay, whatever," and Lance was left feeling as though he'd missed something important.
In the morning, JC was quiet as he showered and got ready but Lance woke up anyway. JC left without saying good-bye and Lance slipped back into a restless sleep, complete with odd, unsettling dreams that left him more tired than getting up early would have.
The final afternoon was more what Lance had had in mind when he'd first thought about the weekend. Lunch--extending well into the afternoon--outdoors on the shaded courtyard, long tables covered with platters and bowls and even if Jean-Claude still couldn't seem to tear himself away from JC for any length of time, he at least took brief breaks to introduce the wine that he was pairing with each new course.
Lance managed to keep his face straight after each overblown description, but he had to admit that the wine was … good. He wasn't going to start babbling about slight vegetal notes on the nose, whatever the fuck that meant, but, yeah, it was good.
Everything would have been fabulous, except that JC was ignoring him. It was nothing elaborate or ostentatious, both of which Lance knew JC was perfectly capable of, but it was real and not accidental and it hurt a hell of a lot more than Lance thought it should, enough so that he almost missed that the vineyard's general manager, who had been seated next to him at lunch, was now subtly and expertly flirting with him.
Almost.
---
"Oh, hey," JC said, as he came in the door of the guesthouse. "I didn't know you were here; I just need a fast shower and I'll get out of your way." He walked quickly through the living area to the stairs up to the bathroom. "Don't want to be cramping your style."
"My what?"
JC paused, halfway up the steps. "I saw you with that guy, the one from the business side of things. I'll get out of the way as fast as I can, okay?"
"Yeah, we wouldn't want to keep Jean-Claude waiting, would we?" Lance muttered, not quite under his breath.
JC had reached the top of the staircase; he turned around and started back down. "Excuse me?" he said, evenly, in that tone that Lance knew meant all hell was about to break loose. And for once, Lance didn't care.
"I said," he replied, his voice just as even, "that we wouldn't want to keep Jean-Claude waiting." He met JC's eyes calmly, despite the annoyance that was surging inside him. "Since you've become such great pals and all."
JC came the rest of the way down the stairs and crossed the room to stand close to Lance. "He's been very kind," JC said, and Lance didn't bother not rolling his eyes. "He's spent a hell of a lot of time answering my questions during one of his busiest seasons and I appreciate it."
Lance snorted. "And I'm sure he's looking forward to seeing just how much you do appreciate it."
JC's mouth tightened. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he snarled, and the fury in his voice surprised Lance.
"C'mon, C," he answered, managing to keep his voice light. "I was just joking. The guy is all over you, and hey, you're a big boy. I don't have to tell you what to do with him."
JC didn't play along, though, just let the silence stretch out for a long, uncomfortable moment before saying, "Maybe it's best if you don't start jumping to conclusions."
Lance narrowed his eyes. "I could say the same to you, but you're in too much of a rush, aren't you?"
Instead of taking the bait and storming off, as Lance expected him to do, JC asked quietly, "Why did you ask me to come with you to this?"
"I…" Lance took a deep breath and chose his words carefully. "I thought you'd like it." He shrugged. "You're a pain in the ass to shop for. This seemed perfect for your birthday." JC looked at him with the blank, impersonal expression he reserved for DJs and reporters, until Lance blurted out, "Why? Why did you think I asked you to come with me?"
"I thought," JC said. "I thought it was because of this," and suddenly his mouth was on Lance's, warm and delicious and, oh, God, Lance could admit that Chris was right, that he'd thought about this--a lot--but nothing he'd imagined had come close to reality. JC tasted sweet; sunny and alive, like he'd been sampling the grapes he'd picked, and his hands came up to cradle Lance's face, as though JC knew how much Lance liked to be touched like that.
Before Lance could remember how to think, JC stepped away and took a deep breath, shrugging. "But I guess I was wrong," he said. "Forget the shower. I'll live without it." He crossed the room and closed the outside door quietly behind him and left Lance alone with a million thoughts ricocheting through his head and not a chance in hell of figuring them out.
---
The light that spilled through the high windows was low and golden before JC finally came back. "I wasn't sure if you'd still be here," he said.
Lance sat up from where he'd been half-napping on the couch and stretched the kinks out of his back. "Why?" He shrugged. "I've been kissed before, JC." He left off the part about how he maybe hadn't been kissed that well before, because that was mostly irrelevant to the matter at hand.
JC stayed standing, poised to bolt, Lance thought, but he wasn't out the door yet.
"There's not really much to say," JC said. "Sorry about --"
"No, don't," Lance said. "I know you, JC. You don't do a damn thing you don't want to, even when it's something that would be good for you." He stopped and took a deep breath and then said in a rush, "So what I want to know is why you did it."
"We don't talk all that much," JC said. "I mean, our lives are going in the directions that they're going in and--"
"Which is one of the reasons I thought this would be fun," Lance interrupted.
"I thought it was for something else," JC finished quietly. "But I talked to Joey this afternoon, so I'm in the loop now. I appreciate you thinking of me when you ended up saddled with this trip."
Lance closed his eyes for a second, just long enough to wonder if Bri would like a Shih Tzu or if he should go the other direction and get her something bigger. Labs were especially manic their first few years; that might work better.
"Considering the actual events of this trip, it's probably a good thing I hadn't gone and planned a romantic get-away," Lance said. "But you actually were the first person I thought of when I realized what I'd bought." He shook his head. "I don't think I really thought about that until now."
"Maybe you should."
"Yeah," Lance admitted. "I think you're right." JC's eyes were steady on his, but he stayed quiet. But then, Lance realized, JC had already said his piece. JC had kissed him and even if JC'd been pissed off when he did it, Lance did know JC, well enough to understand he hadn't done it just to prove a point. And that meant it was Lance's call.
Knowing it didn't make it all that much easier, but Lance managed to keep looking at JC when he said, "I think I've always wanted to think about it." Before he could chicken out, Lance took a step, and then another and another, until JC was right in front of him.
"You think?" JC asked. "Or you know?"
"This is what I know," Lance said, and cupped his hand along the strong curve of JC's jaw. This time the kiss was slow, not exactly hesitant, but questioning. "But there's a lot I don't know, JC."
"We can start here, okay?" JC slid his hands up Lance's back, strong and warm. "We don't have to figure it all out right now."
Lance nodded and let JC steer him up the stairs and into--the bathroom? "There's that dinner," JC said, shaking his head when Lance tried to tell him that he was sure they could skip it. "Dude, Joey told me how much you paid for this. The least you can do is do all the stuff they've planned."
JC had that stubborn glint in his eye, so Lance sighed and gave in. JC smiled and kissed him again, quick and light, but very very nice and after they both showered and dressed, JC took his hand as they walked out of the guesthouse, blushing a little when Lance stared at him. "What? It's like a--it's a date, right?"
Lance hurried to agree, and even though JC let go as they got up to the terrace, no one who might be looking could miss the very definite attention he paid to Lance all through the evening. It was a pleasure to smile at Jean-Claude and stand exactly close enough--not touching but definitely inside the personal-space-bubble JC kept around himself--to say hands off without actually speaking a word.
Really. Very nice. Lance thought he might have to do it a couple of more times.
---
It was nearly midnight when they finished and Lance was more than a little drunk on Jean-Claude's vintage cabernet when they made their way back to the guesthouse. He liked that part, too; it was like karmic revenge for having to listen to the guy try to seduce JC for three days. JC wasn't entirely sober either, so they walked very slowly and held on to each other. Or, it at least made a good excuse for how close they were pressed together.
"What do you want?" JC asked. It was too dark to see his face, but his voice was a little hoarse and Lance liked the way it almost slid over his skin.
"A lot." Lance stopped before the last few steps up to the front door and didn't let JC go. "Everything." He took a deep breath and wished for maybe a little bit more sobriety, just for a few minutes, so he didn't mess this up.
"Okay." JC smiled, and even if Lance had been stone-cold sober, he would have been high off that smile. "We can go for everything."
---
---
Thanks towithout_me and liz_w and legal_ladies and darkseaglass, all of whom looked this over a long, long time ago, before Lance came out and it was a different story; and to withdiamonds who checked it for me yesterday and told me it still made sense.
Fandom: Popslash
Pairing: Lance/JC
Rating: PG-13ish. Maybe?
Disclaimer: Okay, NO. I don't know anyone, I *seriously* doubt this is happening, and even if it was, I'm pretty sure we wouldn't be getting the details. Fiction, yes? Yes.
A/N: My contribution for the Junebug Challenge, graciously hosted and administered by
catviret.Also on AOOO, here.
Auctions were evil--the devil's work, as Lance's granddaddy would say. Auctions benefiting worthy causes and starting with three hours of tasting the wine about to be bid on were especially depraved, Lance decided, as he checked his math for the fourth time and still came up with receipts totaling six figures.
Clearly, his competitive streak had gotten a little out of hand, but that didn't mean Joey had to laugh so hard he had to lay down. Or rat him out to Chris as soon as he left Lance's.
"Damn, Bass," Chris drawled, and had Joey even gotten out to the street before he'd called Chris? "A hundred and twenty-four thousand?"
"Don't even start," Lance snapped. "I know where all the bikes are buried, metaphorically speaking."
"Lance," Chris said, with that false patience that meant Lance had just set himself up. "I completely agree that I might have--by normal standards--an excessive number of bikes, but--and this is a big but, critical, even--I can tell the difference between a Harley and a Suzuki. Have you gotten past red and white yet?"
"Fuck off," Lance muttered. He should have known better than to have even answered the phone.
"Dude, seriously. Six figures? That's a hell of a lot of grape juice."
"It wasn't just wine," Lance muttered. "There was some, some artwork." Chris snorted, and Lance really couldn't counter it because, well, yeah. It did sound pretty stupid in the cold hard light of day. "And a trip. For two." For a weekend, but it was for a long weekend. And it was for one of the small, boutique vineyards and its accompanying winery, where they only sold by subscription.
"Yeah, that's good, considering how your currently single state is probably the real reason behind all this."
"Huh?" Lance said, which was fairly pathetic, but it was early--earlyish, at least--and he was as hung over as hell.
"You and Jack, man, you've been quite the party friends since you and the flyboy went up in flames. And when it's not Jack, it's whatever's in the closest bottle."
"That's rich, coming from you," Lance answered, putting as much snide into it as he could, which, granted, wasn't a whole lot. Red wine was almost as bad as tequila the next morning.
"You telling me you didn't have a glass in your hand two minutes after you walked into that auction?" Chris shot back, sharp and relentless. "And that it never was empty for longer than it took you to reach for the bottle you had on your table? Want me to guess how many dead soldiers there were by the time you left? And you goddamn better be telling me you had a driver."
Lance was going to live to be a hundred and Chris would be a hundred and eight and still reading him the riot act about shit. "Yeah," Lance answered, quietly. "Of course."
"Yeah," Chris sighed. "Sorry, man, I knew that. You're just starting to worry me, Bass. You're not bouncing back here. We're still stuck in the drink-heavily-and-screw-the-twinks phase of recovery and that should have ended months ago."
Lance snorted. "Yeah, no shit. Apparently, I'm going for the all-time title…you know, the one you still hold."
"That's supposed to make me feel better? Hell, kid, at least we were on tour and my reckless spending was limited to a couple hundred bucks in CDs. You keep this up much longer and we're gonna be shipping you off to the former-teen-idol halfway house."
"I'm okay, Chris," Lance sighed, and hated how pathetic he sounded. "Really. Mom'll love some of this stuff, and I got myself a hell of a wine cellar now, and I'll think of something to do with the trip."
"Get Joe to buy it from you. He can score some points with the missus."
"I'm thinking Joey can do his own leg work," Lance said.
"Ah, c'mon, Bass; don't be holding a grudge. He didn't mean to laugh so hard he choked."
"And he accidentally speed-dialed you the second I hung up on his sorry ass, too, right?" Lance didn't wait for an answer. "I could take you, but you'd embarrass the fuck out of me, just for fun."
Chris laughed. "I live to serve, you know that."
"Maybe C'd want to go," Lance mused.
"Foul," Chris said. "Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, give it a rest, Bass."
"Oh, you give it a rest. I'm fine."
"Sure," Chris said. "Fine. Whatever. At least I'll be on the other side of the fucking country when it all blows up."
"Works for me," Lance snapped. "Because I sure as hell haven't gotten by on my own up 'til now. C and I, we're fine; we've always been fine; thanks for calling; I'm going to take a shower."
Chris was still squawking when Lance hung up, and Lance knew he hadn't heard the last of it, but even after all these years, he still got a nice glow when he managed to get Chris all spun up about something.
---
Lance and Justin rarely ended up at the same events and even when they did, Lance was fairly certain the event planners had them on a list somewhere, with everyone else who needed special handling, all the other ex-husbands and ex-girlfriends and deals-gone-bad. Lance didn't actually care, but it wasn't particularly worth the energy to convince people that whatever bad blood there was between them wasn't really enough to warrant restraining orders. Every now and then, though, they wound up in the same room without Joey running interference and it was fine. Lance was polite; Justin was polite and they could generally fill at least ten minutes with vague chat. If they stood around longer, they could always pretend to reminisce. It was a pattern and it worked and the two of them were all about the stuff that worked, which was why Lance almost dropped his glass of champagne when Justin came up to him at the week's hot opening and said, "I think you should do the trip thing with C."
"Um, what?" Lance stared. "Hi, Justin. Nice to see you, too."
"Oh, yeah, hi," Justin said, laughing at himself. "I had dinner with Joey and Kel the other day and Joe was going on about that auction you guys went to and all, and I kinda forgot I hadn't been talking to you, too." He waved his hands and shrugged. "Sorry. I mean, yeah, how're things? How was Broadway?"
"It was good," Lance said. "Fun. Weird."
"You still freaked about solos?" Justin grabbed two glasses of champagne from a waiter and shoved one in Lance's hand.
"No," Lance sighed. "I'm fine."
"Good," Justin answered. "Because that shit was stupid ten years ago."
"Thanks," Lance said, dryly. "I think." Justin opened his mouth to explain or expand or whatever he felt was necessary and since Lance wasn't particularly in the mood for a Justin pep-talk, he said, quickly, "Back to JC?"
"Yeah, C." Justin drained his glass. "He's, just, you know, floating around, doing his thing and hanging out and all. I figure if that's all he's doing, he might as well be hanging out with somebody who won't be waving some new shiny thing in his face--"
"Justin," Lance interrupted. "I didn't really mean it." He sighed. "I was just thinking out loud with Chris, and then he told Joey and…"
Justin laughed, and if it sounded a little forced, Lance wasn't going to call him on it. "And the group grapevine still works at the speed of sound."
"Some things never do change, I guess," Lance said, then realized how that sounded. Justin just shrugged, though, and didn't leave. They stood around and watched the increasingly drunken crowd.
"So, uh, things are going okay?" Justin asked. "Since, uh, since you broke up with, y'know..." Lance snorted. "I mean, you're going out and all, Joe says. Having a good time."
"Yes, J, I'm going out, and yes, having a good time."
"Yeah, good, good." Justin snuck a look at Lance. "Not like crazy, though, right?"
"No, Justin, I have not yet lost the sense God gave me and brought a bartender or a waiter or a stripper home with me." Lance thought about it for a second, before adding, "Not that there haven't been a few who wouldn't have jumped at the chance."
"Oh, yeah, you're quite the catch, Bass."
"I'm flattered that you noticed, straight boy that you are," Lance said dryly, and the entire conversation should have been driving him insane, but it was oddly comforting.
"Straight, vanilla, completely unbent...I am comfortable in my blandness," Justin answered, unperturbed, and Lance grinned and shook his head. Justin grinned back. "Okay, look, I gotta go, but seriously, I think you should do the thing with C." Justin waved and nodded at someone who'd been trying to catch his attention. "Really, man, he'd love it, and what the hell else are you gonna do with it?" He gave Lance quick hug and dove back into the crowd.
Lance watched him disappear and went for another glass of champagne; Justin was Justin and it was always odd what brought him out of his focused zone, but Lance thought it might have been the weirdest conversation he'd had in a long time.
---
Lance thought about it off and on for a couple of weeks, even going so far as to offer the whole thing to Stacey for an anniversary present, but she and Ford couldn't make their schedules work. And, Stacey was sweet about it and all, and Ford was seriously one of the best guys Lance knew, but visiting a vineyard really wasn't on the top of his list of things to do. Lance wasn't sure it was on his own list of things he wanted to do, so he could certainly understand Ford.
Finally, after dodging three separate phone calls from the marketing director at the winery, who was being incredibly patient and polite and accommodating, but who clearly needed to schedule something, Lance sat down at his desk faced the facts. Having the stupid thing just sitting around, waiting for him to make a decision about it was punching all kinds of buttons he'd been working hard to ignore. Yeah, sure, he had a great--awesome--life, with tons of friends and no lack of interest on the dating front, but there really wasn't anyone Lance could think of that he wanted to invite. So. If he wasn't taking someone he was dating, he could give the trip to Joey and Kelly or he could ask a friend. If he asked a friend, it would have to be someone that paparazzi knew already, or they'd have a field day, which meant Shannon or Jamie Lyn.
Or JC.
Lance thought about it. A lot. Chris was a pain in the ass, but he had a valid, if small--miniscule--point, but the only reason he knew anything was because he was incredibly annoying when he was drunk and Lance had let a little too much slip between the seventh and eighth rounds the last time they were in Vegas. So, yes, Lance hadn't really ever done anything about it, but he'd been crushing on JC the whole time they were together as a group. But, that was then, he assured himself. It had started long before he was even admitting things to himself. This was now and there were far worse things than a weekend of drinking wine and hanging out with C. It was the perfect birthday present for JC--expensive, but worth it. Something he'd never do for himself, not just a thing but an experience…it hit all the right notes.
It was lame and cheesy as hell, and Lance was fairly certain he'd done something similar in junior high when life had still been about who you could ask to the Homecoming Dance, but the look on JC's face when he opened the birthday card and the little slip of paper Lance had clipped from the auction catalog fluttered to his lap was been almost worth the five figures right there. JC beamed and said of course he'd go. Lance congratulated himself on finding a simple, elegant solution to what was in reality a drunken spending spree and settled down to work out the dates with JC and the marketing director at the winery.
---
JC, of course, completely forgot about everything. Anticipating this, Lance arrived the night before their flight to coax, cajole and bully him out of the studio. JC resisted to the bitter end, but with two hours to spare, Lance finally got him to throw some clothes into a carry-on and shoved him into the cab.
The flight up to San Francisco was smooth and quiet enough that they both could nap and the drive to Russian River was more relaxed than Lance would have dreamed possible. JC clicked off the work part of his brain and sprawled back in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard, and when Lance looked over, he could practically see the stress dropping off him in waves. Lance didn't even bitch at him about how unsafe he was being, just reached over and cranked the stereo and paid attention to the directions he'd been given.
JC smiled at him and Lance knew he'd made the right decision.
---
36 hours later
"Lance!"
Lance pulled the pillow over his head, even though he knew it was hopeless. This had turned out to be the stupidest idea ever, ever, and the worst part about it all, Lance thought, was that it was his own damn fault. He should have known anything Justin thought was a good idea was doomed.
It was so early it was still dark outside, the alarm was drilling straight into his head, every muscle in his body ached, his head was pounding with that special force that a bottle and a half of red wine could give and he couldn't wait until he could get Justin on the phone and scream about it.
"Cat, come on," JC continued, ripping the pillows and the covers away, leaving Lance with no protection from the force of his exuberance. "We've got just enough time for breakfast before we get to go back out to the vines."
And that was it in a nutshell. Before they "got" to go back out to the vines. A winery weekend wasn't supposed to include hard labor. At least, not if you were paying, oh God, Lance didn't even want to think about how much he'd paid for this.
Lance looked at JC, nearly bouncing with excitement at the foot of the bed, and stifled a groan. Definitely the stupidest idea he'd ever had.
---
Lance was never going to look at a glass of pinot noir the same way again. In fact, if he had his way—and Lance always got his way when things were this serious—he was never going to so much as look at a glass of pinot noir again. There was serious doubt as to whether he'd ever buy another bottle of wine of any kind. Bourbon was more his drink anyway. He needed to fucking remember that next time.
It wasn't just getting out of bed before dawn, so they could start picking grapes as soon as it was light enough to see. That was bad, but JC had been there with a giant cup of coffee and one of the big prescription ibuprofens Lance knew he'd lived on during his tour and something like muscle memory had kicked in, enough so that Lance was moving on auto-pilot. Even if Lance was never going to admit it, once he got going, he was actually enjoying moving through the rows of grapevines. The sun was warm; the air crisp and clear, perfumed with the sharp, sweet tang of the grapes that broke as he dropped the clusters into the big forty pound buckets.
All of that was okay. Well, except for the way his back was killing him from having to bend over. What was really fueling his anti-wine determination was getting to watch JC be all but pawed by one Jean-Claude Seibert. Lance had had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes right from the first night, when Jean-Claude had introduced himself with a negligent wave of his hands and the comment, "Vintner is so…pretentious, yes? I like to say that I am simply a winemaker."
JC had smiled--politely, Lance had wanted to note; certainly not even close to one of his big, really happy smiles--and Jean-Claude had zeroed right in on him and now the entire situation had degenerated to the point of Lance barely managing to keep from slapping those elegant hands away from where they were showing JC how to "feel the ripeness of the grape."
Lance almost choked upon hearing that, but managed to turn it into a semi-convincing cough when JC turned around to check on him. "I'm fine," he muttered. He wondered if the auction would accept the lots he'd won as a donation for next year's event.
---
"Lance," Joey said, and whatever else was wrong with this weekend, the cell phone reception was excellent. Lance could practically hear Joey grinding his teeth. "I'm not seeing the problem here. Sleep in tomorrow. Let C go play in the mud. Take the car and go find someplace to shop or something."
"But—"
"No buts about it, man." If Joey had been in arm's distance, Lance had no doubts that he'd have had his head smacked. "C'll have a much better time if you're not sulking—"
Lance tried to interrupt, but Joey just talked louder. "Sulking in the background. Don't tell me you're not, man."
"Yeah, well, I'd like to see you out there at six in the morning," Lance muttered.
"Oh, no way," Joey said cheerfully. "If I'd spent that much money to go pick grapes, Kelly would have cut my nuts off before I woke up the next morning. I'd be dead, but I wouldn't be out there."
It was impossible for Lance to stay mad at Joey; it was an accepted fact in their insular world, but it was important to at least save face. "Fine," Lance said. "Thanks for the advice."
"Anytime, man," Joey said, and Lance didn't for a second believe he was as oblivious as he sounded. He made a mental note to come up with something especially nasty for Joey's next birthday, quite possibly involving Briahna and a puppy.
"Talk to you later," Lance answered, feeling marginally better at the thought of Joey having to deal with Kelly's reaction to housebreaking something very small and very noisy.
---
Lance took Joey's advice and announced that he'd be skipping the final morning's harvest in favor of some quality time with his favorite down pillows, the ones that traveled with him everywhere. JC stared at him for a long minute before he shrugged and said, "Okay, whatever," and Lance was left feeling as though he'd missed something important.
In the morning, JC was quiet as he showered and got ready but Lance woke up anyway. JC left without saying good-bye and Lance slipped back into a restless sleep, complete with odd, unsettling dreams that left him more tired than getting up early would have.
The final afternoon was more what Lance had had in mind when he'd first thought about the weekend. Lunch--extending well into the afternoon--outdoors on the shaded courtyard, long tables covered with platters and bowls and even if Jean-Claude still couldn't seem to tear himself away from JC for any length of time, he at least took brief breaks to introduce the wine that he was pairing with each new course.
Lance managed to keep his face straight after each overblown description, but he had to admit that the wine was … good. He wasn't going to start babbling about slight vegetal notes on the nose, whatever the fuck that meant, but, yeah, it was good.
Everything would have been fabulous, except that JC was ignoring him. It was nothing elaborate or ostentatious, both of which Lance knew JC was perfectly capable of, but it was real and not accidental and it hurt a hell of a lot more than Lance thought it should, enough so that he almost missed that the vineyard's general manager, who had been seated next to him at lunch, was now subtly and expertly flirting with him.
Almost.
---
"Oh, hey," JC said, as he came in the door of the guesthouse. "I didn't know you were here; I just need a fast shower and I'll get out of your way." He walked quickly through the living area to the stairs up to the bathroom. "Don't want to be cramping your style."
"My what?"
JC paused, halfway up the steps. "I saw you with that guy, the one from the business side of things. I'll get out of the way as fast as I can, okay?"
"Yeah, we wouldn't want to keep Jean-Claude waiting, would we?" Lance muttered, not quite under his breath.
JC had reached the top of the staircase; he turned around and started back down. "Excuse me?" he said, evenly, in that tone that Lance knew meant all hell was about to break loose. And for once, Lance didn't care.
"I said," he replied, his voice just as even, "that we wouldn't want to keep Jean-Claude waiting." He met JC's eyes calmly, despite the annoyance that was surging inside him. "Since you've become such great pals and all."
JC came the rest of the way down the stairs and crossed the room to stand close to Lance. "He's been very kind," JC said, and Lance didn't bother not rolling his eyes. "He's spent a hell of a lot of time answering my questions during one of his busiest seasons and I appreciate it."
Lance snorted. "And I'm sure he's looking forward to seeing just how much you do appreciate it."
JC's mouth tightened. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he snarled, and the fury in his voice surprised Lance.
"C'mon, C," he answered, managing to keep his voice light. "I was just joking. The guy is all over you, and hey, you're a big boy. I don't have to tell you what to do with him."
JC didn't play along, though, just let the silence stretch out for a long, uncomfortable moment before saying, "Maybe it's best if you don't start jumping to conclusions."
Lance narrowed his eyes. "I could say the same to you, but you're in too much of a rush, aren't you?"
Instead of taking the bait and storming off, as Lance expected him to do, JC asked quietly, "Why did you ask me to come with you to this?"
"I…" Lance took a deep breath and chose his words carefully. "I thought you'd like it." He shrugged. "You're a pain in the ass to shop for. This seemed perfect for your birthday." JC looked at him with the blank, impersonal expression he reserved for DJs and reporters, until Lance blurted out, "Why? Why did you think I asked you to come with me?"
"I thought," JC said. "I thought it was because of this," and suddenly his mouth was on Lance's, warm and delicious and, oh, God, Lance could admit that Chris was right, that he'd thought about this--a lot--but nothing he'd imagined had come close to reality. JC tasted sweet; sunny and alive, like he'd been sampling the grapes he'd picked, and his hands came up to cradle Lance's face, as though JC knew how much Lance liked to be touched like that.
Before Lance could remember how to think, JC stepped away and took a deep breath, shrugging. "But I guess I was wrong," he said. "Forget the shower. I'll live without it." He crossed the room and closed the outside door quietly behind him and left Lance alone with a million thoughts ricocheting through his head and not a chance in hell of figuring them out.
---
The light that spilled through the high windows was low and golden before JC finally came back. "I wasn't sure if you'd still be here," he said.
Lance sat up from where he'd been half-napping on the couch and stretched the kinks out of his back. "Why?" He shrugged. "I've been kissed before, JC." He left off the part about how he maybe hadn't been kissed that well before, because that was mostly irrelevant to the matter at hand.
JC stayed standing, poised to bolt, Lance thought, but he wasn't out the door yet.
"There's not really much to say," JC said. "Sorry about --"
"No, don't," Lance said. "I know you, JC. You don't do a damn thing you don't want to, even when it's something that would be good for you." He stopped and took a deep breath and then said in a rush, "So what I want to know is why you did it."
"We don't talk all that much," JC said. "I mean, our lives are going in the directions that they're going in and--"
"Which is one of the reasons I thought this would be fun," Lance interrupted.
"I thought it was for something else," JC finished quietly. "But I talked to Joey this afternoon, so I'm in the loop now. I appreciate you thinking of me when you ended up saddled with this trip."
Lance closed his eyes for a second, just long enough to wonder if Bri would like a Shih Tzu or if he should go the other direction and get her something bigger. Labs were especially manic their first few years; that might work better.
"Considering the actual events of this trip, it's probably a good thing I hadn't gone and planned a romantic get-away," Lance said. "But you actually were the first person I thought of when I realized what I'd bought." He shook his head. "I don't think I really thought about that until now."
"Maybe you should."
"Yeah," Lance admitted. "I think you're right." JC's eyes were steady on his, but he stayed quiet. But then, Lance realized, JC had already said his piece. JC had kissed him and even if JC'd been pissed off when he did it, Lance did know JC, well enough to understand he hadn't done it just to prove a point. And that meant it was Lance's call.
Knowing it didn't make it all that much easier, but Lance managed to keep looking at JC when he said, "I think I've always wanted to think about it." Before he could chicken out, Lance took a step, and then another and another, until JC was right in front of him.
"You think?" JC asked. "Or you know?"
"This is what I know," Lance said, and cupped his hand along the strong curve of JC's jaw. This time the kiss was slow, not exactly hesitant, but questioning. "But there's a lot I don't know, JC."
"We can start here, okay?" JC slid his hands up Lance's back, strong and warm. "We don't have to figure it all out right now."
Lance nodded and let JC steer him up the stairs and into--the bathroom? "There's that dinner," JC said, shaking his head when Lance tried to tell him that he was sure they could skip it. "Dude, Joey told me how much you paid for this. The least you can do is do all the stuff they've planned."
JC had that stubborn glint in his eye, so Lance sighed and gave in. JC smiled and kissed him again, quick and light, but very very nice and after they both showered and dressed, JC took his hand as they walked out of the guesthouse, blushing a little when Lance stared at him. "What? It's like a--it's a date, right?"
Lance hurried to agree, and even though JC let go as they got up to the terrace, no one who might be looking could miss the very definite attention he paid to Lance all through the evening. It was a pleasure to smile at Jean-Claude and stand exactly close enough--not touching but definitely inside the personal-space-bubble JC kept around himself--to say hands off without actually speaking a word.
Really. Very nice. Lance thought he might have to do it a couple of more times.
---
It was nearly midnight when they finished and Lance was more than a little drunk on Jean-Claude's vintage cabernet when they made their way back to the guesthouse. He liked that part, too; it was like karmic revenge for having to listen to the guy try to seduce JC for three days. JC wasn't entirely sober either, so they walked very slowly and held on to each other. Or, it at least made a good excuse for how close they were pressed together.
"What do you want?" JC asked. It was too dark to see his face, but his voice was a little hoarse and Lance liked the way it almost slid over his skin.
"A lot." Lance stopped before the last few steps up to the front door and didn't let JC go. "Everything." He took a deep breath and wished for maybe a little bit more sobriety, just for a few minutes, so he didn't mess this up.
"Okay." JC smiled, and even if Lance had been stone-cold sober, he would have been high off that smile. "We can go for everything."
---
---
Thanks to
without_me and liz_w and legal_ladies and darkseaglass, all of whom looked this over a long, long time ago, before Lance came out and it was a different story; and to withdiamonds who checked it for me yesterday and told me it still made sense.