// like coffee //

//

"Good book?" JC looked up as Chris hooked his chin over his shoulder, trying to read a sentence or two. "A remarkable feature here is the luminous effect achieved by the juxtaposition of contrasting colours. Dude. What does that even mean?" He sniffed-- because wow, JC smelled kinda nice. A little like sunshine.

Okay-- the hell? Chris shook his head and blinked, because apparently he was lacking some oxygen or something. It was entirely possible he'd inhaled some wacked out hair-product particles from JC's head, because god knows he piled enough crap in there.

JC hummed a little under his breath. "It’s a description of one of Monet’s paintings, and it means it’s probably time I stopped reading." He tipped his head back and grinned at Chris-- who was most definitely not sniffing JC anymore. "Unless you want me to explain it all properly?"

"Um, no." Chris plucked the book from JC’s hands and tossed it aside. "I’m already bored. I don’t particularly want to end up comatose." He blinked, not thinking of sunshine at all, really, nor how JC’s mouth was slightly open, enough to see a flash of wet, pink tongue-- and tried out his best pleading face-- the same one that almost never worked on Lance. "Entertain me?"

"Lance warned me about that look." But JC’s smile grew a little wider and Chris knew it’d be ok. JC was a good guy.

*

A good guy who totally and utterly kicked his ass at Halo. But at least he didn’t gloat. Much.

"I guess I was just lucky," JC said, bouncing happily, and when Chris glared fiercely at him, he smiled and made an "L" sign with his fingers on his forehead. "Really lucky," he added, when Chris started to snarl softly.

Chris sighed. For a good guy who smelled like sunshine, JC was actually kinda mean. Chris was starting to feel sorry that he'd ever sniffed him.

*

"I’ll let you win this time." Two days later, and JC’s head poked round the door of Chris’ suite, the rest of him following. "And I won’t gloat. Or do that "L" sign on the forehead thing. And um, I definitely won’t do any more victory laps."

"I kinda liked the victory laps. Until you stood on my finger."

JC looked mortified. "Is it still swollen?" He picked Chris’ hand up, inspecting his fingers closely. Chris couldn’t help but notice how warm and soft his hands were. "I really am sorry about that."

"It’s okay. And yeah, I’m up for a rematch." He held out a game controller, and when JC reached for it, his tshirt rode up ever-so-slightly to reveal a sliver of smooth, pale skin beneath. Chris’ mouth felt strangely dry, and his hand shook a little. He frowned, because-- rematch. Right. Kicking ass and taking names. That’s what this was all about. Not sunshine and soft hands and glimpses of skin. And most definitely no sniffing. Not that at all.

"Groaarwgh," rumbled JC suddenly, twisting his face into weird positions as he stared at the TV screen. "Uh oh!" he added, swooping violently to the side, then back again, before slumping bonelessly backwards onto the floor. "I’m dead," he sighed dramatically, throwing his arms up in the air, flinging the game controller behind him. "Dead dead dead."

"And a really bad actor," Chris pointed out. "When you let someone win, usually it’s good manners to make it a little less obvious."

"Hey, I already told you I was gonna let you win." JC sat up again, arching his back and stretching his arms above his head. Chris definitely didn’t stare at the sweep of his stomach, or the light dusting of hair snaking down below the waistband of his jeans. Nope. Not staring at that at all. "How much more obvious do I have to be?"

"I, uh. Well. Hmm."

JC smiled brightly. "But hey, you won. That’s really all that matters, right?"

Chris supposed JC had a point. He was happy he’d won-- even if it was by default--and part of him was more than a little relieved there’d be no more victory laps. Last time, he’d enjoyed the sight of JC’s ass whizzing round and round the room past him somewhat more than he was really willing to admit.

JC simply flailing about being a big over-dramatic dork was far easier to deal with.

*

So, it wasn’t like Chris was stalking JC or anything. He just happened to be there at the same places at the same times. And when it all boiled down, it’s not even like it could be avoided, because it was just the way their schedule worked out. Okay, so maybe some things-- like him needing to go to the bathroom at the exact same time as JC did were a little freaky, but hey, maybe it was all to do with some great cosmic bladder alignment, and really, who was he to argue with fate?

"You here again?" JC raised an eyebrow at him as he walked past, and Chris concentrated on leaning casually against the bathroom door.

"Uh, yeah. I, um." Chris waved his hand around in a vague semi-circle, before indicating his belly. "Y’know. The coffee."

"Right." JC nodded. "So, are you gonna actually, like, go? Or just stand there? Because if you're done, then I. Well." He tilted his head toward the stall.

Chris swallowed. "Yes. Right. I was just. Uh." Good lord, but this was just stupid. "I’ve been already," he finished, lamely. "I just wanted to say, uh. Hi. So, yeah-- hi."

"Hi." JC smiled sweetly, and Chris wanted to stab himself in the eye. He was stalking him. In the bathroom, of all places. How much lower could he go? And maybe it was best he didn’t even think about the answer to that.

"So, I’ll just, uh. Go now." Chris fumbled for the door handle. "I mean. I’ve been, and now, um. Now I’m going. Yes." He waved over his shoulder, then pulled the door closed on JC’s bemused face.

What the hell had he been thinking? He really needed to get a hobby.

*

"Are you avoiding me?" JC’s voice and Chris jumped, his heart leaping into his throat, all the pieces of paper on his lap fluttering gracefully to the ground.

"Shit, C-- I didn’t hear you come in. And what? Am I what?" He stooped to gather up the paper, willing his heartbeat to slow the fuck down as he did so.

"Avoiding-- is that-- origami?" JC picked up one of the little pieces of brightly-coloured, precisely-folded paper and held it carefully in his fingertips. "Dude, it is. It’s a tiny little swan." He bobbed it up and down in vague swimming motions.

Chris frowned. "It's a crane, actually. And yes, it is origami, and if you’re making a dig about my, uh-- my manliness here, then you can just quit right now, and--" He paused then, because-- "JC, are you wearing harem pants?"

JC nodded absently, still turning the tiny paper crane over and over in his hand. "I was belly dancing," he murmured. "Chris, this is really good. How come I never knew you did origami?"

"It’s a recent thing." Chris stroked a finger over the silky material of JC’s pants. "Belly dancing?" And hey, okay, that was so not a visual he needed to be having right now. JC’s hips, twisting sinuously, arms above his head-- oh yeah. So not thinking about any of that. His belly did this weird little squirm, and he ignored it as hard as he could.

"Mmm." JC flopped down onto the bed beside him. "I totally would’ve told you if I’d seen you round, but, man. We’re like ships that pass in the night, lately." He sighed, plucking at the waistband of the harem pants. "I even looked for you in the bathroom the other day."

Chris glanced sideways at him, but JC’s face was serious. His eyes, though. They twinkled a little, which pretty much gave him away. "Yeah, well." Chris shrugged. "I think I’m probably going to have to give up coffee."

"Woah. That’s pretty major." JC reached over and set the tiny paper bird on Chris' stomach, where it sat, gently moving with the rise and fall of his breathing. "Giving up coffee?"

"It’s starting to make my stomach feel kinda-- weird," Chris said, shrugging, not able to make himself look JC in the eye.

*




The next time Chris’ stomach did the weird flip thing, he decided to blame it on the lunch they'd just eaten. He leaned over JC, who was happily draped across his lap, and glared at the two empty plates.

"What was that we just ate anyway?"

"Pasta," said JC, wriggling a little. "With some sauce-type stuff. It was actually pretty good."

"Hmm." Chris wrinkled his nose. "Maybe it was all the Red Bull."

"You only drank three cans." JC said, stretching slowly, all warm skin and long limbs. "For you, that’s hardly anything."

Chris shrugged. "What else could it be? I feel all-- weird."

"You are weird."

"So are you." Chris poked JC’s shoulder. "Belly dancing freak."

"Paper folding maniac." JC dissolved into helpless giggles when Chris waggled his fingers along his ribs, and then-- there it was again-- a definite flipping sensation.

"It just happened again," he said.

"Well, I feel fine," JC said quietly, his head resting on Chris’ arm. "Y'know, maybe it's the coffee." He peered at Chris intently.

Chris frowned. "But-- I haven’t had any."

JC hummed softly for a moment. "Really," he said thoughtfully, fingers idly stroking along Chris’ arm. "So. It’s not the Red Bull, and it’s not the pasta. And you say it’s not the coffee." Round and round his fingers went, raising goosebumps along Chris’ skin, but JC didn’t seem to notice.

"Definitely not the coffee." JC’s touch on his skin was strangely hypnotic-- something Chris thought he could get used to. It wasn’t even that he really felt unwell-- more like he was poised, carefully balanced, just waiting for something to happen. Something important.

"We’ll figure out what it is. You know, if you’re sure it’s not the coffee," JC murmured as he sat up again, soft curls brushing Chris’ cheek, shifting until his head was resting in the crook of Chris' neck. It fitted there perfectly. "I suspect it’s probably something really obvious."

How much more obvious do I have to be? JC had asked him, and Chris hadn’t gotten it. Not then. But now-- right now with JC smiling up at him, pressed close enough for Chris to feel the warmth of his breath, Chris felt tingly all over; filled with gentle heat that spread like honey through his limbs. It felt a lot like sunshine. It felt-- right.

And now, finally, he got it.

"I actually think it might be you," he said softly, the smile on JC’s face getting bigger still, until his eyes crinkled at the corners, and just knowing he’d caused that brought on the biggest flip of all. Chris felt giddy, like he was floating, tumbling over and over through the air, helpless to stop. "It’s like--"

"Like what?" JC’s voice was barely more than a whisper, and Chris noticed how very blue his eyes were in the sunlight and wondered just what JC would taste like. Maybe a little something like coffee, he thought. In fact, he was sure of it.

"Just now. It felt--" Chris smiled then, too, because suddenly it all made sense. He realised that somehow, somewhere inside, it always had. He reached across and touched JC’s face, tracing the soft curve of his smile. "It feels a lot like I’m falling."

"So it's just as well I'm right here to catch you," JC whispered, and when he leaned in closer still to brush a kiss across Chris’ lips, kissing him back seemed like the most obvious thing in the world to do.

So Chris did, and it was. And he was right-- JC tasted just like coffee.

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