a show of solidarity




..."but what I'll miss most," Justin says, flinging his arms wide, beer slopping crazily down his sleeve, "...most of all, is the, is the, the...closeness, you know?"

"mmm, yes, J. I know. I know." Chris nods sagely, shifting slightly to the left in order to avoid the pool of spilled booze creeping ever closer. Justin's sitting in the epicenter -- Justin is the epicenter-- but he doesn't seem to notice. Chris supposes at his stage of inebriation, wet pants have transcended all meaning. Justin's on a whole other plane.

Thud. Justin's forehead meets the tabletop, and maybe this time, Chris thinks, third time lucky, out for the count --all kinds of phrases slip through his mind, but no --Justin's head rises slowly, two red-rimmed eyes fixing firmly on Chris' face. "Ow," Justin says belatedly, frowning at the bottle in his hand. "Can I have another beer, please?"

"Justin, I think--"

Justin makes a strangled sniffling noise, and before Chris can move, another beer skids elegantly across the table from JC's fingertips. No more crying, JC mouths to Chris frantically, looking more than just a little close to tears himself.

Fair enough, Chris thinks, watching Justin flip the cap off his 7th beer, and steels himself for another onslaught of Why Girls Suck, by Justin Randall Timberlake.





Two hours later and the pool of beer is threatening to engulf Chris' pants as well. He's moved out of its path several times, only to be reeled back in by Justin's flailing arms and huge hands, accompanied by loud, alcohol-fuelled declarations of, "I fucking love you, man," and "she's ruined my fucking life."

"JC," Chris says desperately from where he's tightly wedged under Justin's armpit, "aren't you tired?"

"Huh?"

"Tired," Chris says, enunciating as much as he's able to with Justin's bicep smushed against his jaw. "Sleep. Aren't you, um, sleepy?"

"No, I'm-- oh." JC blinks. "Oh, right. Yes, tired. Very tired." He yawns, an expansive and outrageous fake if ever Chris has seen one, but hopefully it's enough to fool Justin, who Chris suspects is currently seeing at least three JCs. He doesn't think it's too much to hope that at least one of them is even halfway believable.

Justin releases his grip on Chris so suddenly, Chris almost chokes from the sudden influx of sweet, sweet oxygen. "Chris," Justin says sadly, "I s'pose. You, Chris, and. Um." There's a long pause, before Justin hiccups, then carries on. "And JC. Bed."

"Well," Chris says, "yeah, we--"

"Oh god," Justin sobs, "I'm going to be alone forever."

Thud. His heads slams down again, and Chris winces, because wow, that had to hurt.

"J?" JC says, reaching over the table gingerly to poke Justin's shoulder gently "J, are you-- um. Hey. J?"

"G'way." Justin's voice, muffled and slurred, and dripping with self-pity. "Both of you. G'way and have, have....have sex." The last word is followed by his hand slamming onto the tabletop, except Justin misses altogether and instead sends his half-full bottle toppling into Chris' lap. Warm beer seeps slowly into Chris' thighs, accompanied by Justin's plaintive wails.

"Make him stop," JC mutters, leaping to his feet. "The crying, Chris. His eyes are going to be all puffy, and he hates that--"

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," Justin hiccups, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Stop whispering." He pauses and looks over at Chris, sniffing miserably. "Shit, I thought I was drunk-- have you wet yourself?"

"It's beer," Chris says absently, getting to his feet to look for a cloth, but Justin's not listening anymore, has curled his arms around his head and is rocking slowly back and forth, muttering under his breath. Chris can’t hear it all, but what he can make out isn't very complimentary to either him or JC. Or Britney. Especially Britney. "We can't leave him like this," he says to JC, who is pacing and chewing his thumbnail.

"I know," JC says, around a mouthful of thumb. "I mean," he adds, "because, it's Justin. Our little brother, man. We need to show solidarity. We need to support him, in his, in this time of, of--"

"No sex," Justin says very clearly, emerging from his self-imposed cage of limbs. "If I'm not getting any, neither should you. Especially not with each other in my presence."

"--his time of need," JC finishes, "and so, whatever it takes, J, we're here for--" --Chris glances up from sponging his pants to see JC do a double-take as Justin's words register--"-- what? Chris? What did he just say?"

"No sex," Justin says again. "Or, or, or-- touching. No touching. If no one is touching me, then no touching for you two, either."

Silence.

"Justin, be serious," Chris says, sitting back down to reason with him, because apparently JC's lost the power of speech.

"And," Justin adds, clearly on a roll, "kissing. Definitely no kissing. I know how you two like to sit around and kiss all day. If I'm not getting kissed, then--"

"I'll kiss you," JC says quickly, sounding a little panicked, "J, I'll totally kiss you if it means I can still get laid."

Justin snorts, seemingly unimpressed. "No thanks," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "Been there, done that. You suck. You're all, all—" He can't seem to find the word, instead resorting to contorting his face, sticking out his tongue and shimmying in place. Chris has no idea what it's supposed to convey about JC's kissing technique, but JC looks mortified.

"I am not," JC says, his eyes wide, clapping a hand to his mouth in horror. "Justin, you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

Another snort from Justin. "I'm saying, no sex, no touching, no kissing," he says firmly. "Because they all make me sad, and I don't like being sad. When I'm sad, I cry, and my eyes get puffy and I don't like it when my eyes are puffy. You said so yourself. Solidarity. Brothers. Whatever it takes. Because you love me. You love me, don't you, C?"

JC nods automatically, still looking slightly shell-shocked. "Yeah, 'course."

"Good." Justin smiles blearily, then looks over at Chris. "Chris?"

"Huh?" Chris says, more than a little stunned by Justin's grand directive, not to mention the eloquent way in which it was delivered. "Yeah, I love you too, man. You know that."

"No, Chris," Justin says urgently, sounding a lot less eloquent this time. "You should move now. I'm about to throw up."





*





"You know what?" JC says, three days later, wild-eyed, running his fingers through his hair, "fuck solidarity. I'm going insane. I need to get laid. That little bastard."

Chris grimaces, resting his forehead against the bus window. "No kidding," he mutters. "My pants, man. Ruined."

"The beer?" JC looks sympathetic. "Or from where he puked all over you?"

Chris feels himself blushing, despite the cool glass pressed against his skin. "I came in them listening to you jerk off this morning," he whispers, and silently curses Britney Spears for the 50th time that day.

jewelianna said this: Man, for years I've wanted to read a TrickC during the Celebrity Tour when Justin's all brokenhearted and JC and Chris are trying not to fuck like bunnies in front of him on the bus.

and so halo wrote this.

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