Written for the JC Slashficathon
Triple Word Score
"You're cheating," Justin said suspiciously, his voice muffled as his head disappeared behind the open refrigerator door.
"Dude, how could I be cheating? What, I memorized the tiles or something?" Chris grinned at JC. Justin was always such a bad sport at the whole board-game thing. It was kind of cute, really. In that obnoxiously endearing way. Justin was lucky he could pull off both at the same time, and he was lucky Chris had the good-natured fortitude to endure it. Beatification was clearly in order.
"Listen," he continued, "I appreciate your faith in both my apparently eidetic memory and stalwart constitution, but I hate to inform you that the amount of alcohol this old man's consumed tonight has indeed taken a nasty toll on the ole short-term, and this," he tapped a finger to his temple, "is anything but photographic at the moment."
"Are you sure 'flagellate' has two l's?" JC asked thoughtfully, gazing at the game board. Chris shot him a wearying look.
"I'm not that drunk, C. Unlike some at the tabl- um, on the floor here, I can utilize my vocabulary whilst toasted. Because clearly it's played some amount of havoc with your mental faculty already." Chris sighed as he raised his beer to his lips. "I never should have corrupted you. You were such golden boys once, and now you're practically dens of iniquity. And ignorance. You iniquitous ignoramuses."
"Ignorami," Justin corrected as he sat back down, and Chris rolled his eyes.
"Latin from the bus school brainiac. It's everything I could have hoped for in a bandmate experience. Because I certainly never would have hoped for a friend-slash-co-worker with the manners to offer to grab me another beer while he was up. That would just be insane." Chris set his empty bottle on the floor and gave it a spin before rising to retrieve another from the mini-fridge, leaving a confused Justin turning towards JC, who was hiding a laugh behind his hand.
Chris pulled open the mini-fridge, and frowned at the ratio of Heinekens to JC's Sierra Nevadas. He made a mental note to have the driver pull over at the next convenient hole-in-the-freeway store. There was no way they were making it all the way to Tulsa without something more copiously basic than microbrews with artsy, pastel labels.
"So where does my dazzling intelligence and incredible luck leave us, you pussies?" he called as he pulled the last Heineken out from its hiding place at the back of the fridge. "How badly am I whipping your asses?" He popped off the bottle cap and took a deep gulp of beer before moving behind JC and peering over his shoulder at the score pad.
"Um," JC hesitated, his eyes skimming the pad of paper in front of him, then cutting up in Chris' direction. "You're winning. By a lot."
"I hate Scrabble," Justin complained. "C'mon man, can't we play SoulCaliber or something? Something invented in the last ten years, at least?"
"Game night on the bus wasn't my idea," Chris defended as he settled himself back down, and JC flushed, his forehead wrinkling as he shoved the box of tiles over towards Chris. The box slid across the floor past the empty beer bottle, which, Chris noted with amusement, was pointing right at JC.
"SoulCaliber is a game," Justin insisted. "It's a way better game than Scrabble."
"Only to the loathsomely uneducated." Chris selected his tiles with care, his fingers hovering over the plastic squares, waiting for the vibe to hit him. He picked them up one by one, not looking at them until he had chosen all seven.
"You totally love SoulCaliber," Justin persisted.
"Did anyone hear me claiming to be educated? C?"
"I've never heard you say that," JC agreed, and Chris patted him encouragingly on the knee.
"And you never will. He who praises his own intellect has a fool for a praiser. Or something. Yes." Chris nodded sagely, and JC raised an eyebrow. Chris shrugged, grinning. "I prove my own point yet again, my friend. And it's your turn."
"I know." JC looked down, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he considered his tiles. "I'm thinking."
"And a worthy pastime it is!" Chris said. "But time and tide wait for no man, so I'm pretty sure they won't wait for you."
JC glanced up at him. "If you're bored . . . "
"No, no. Bored isn't the word. I would say . . . observe my vocabulary utilization in action, now . . . I would say, anticipatory?"
'Or, like, restless?" Justin offered, and Chris nodded graciously in his direction.
"Yes, restless, waiting for your move with bated-breath, even. After your last, fine contribution to the Parker Brothers-sponsored fun - what was it? Oh yeah," Chris pointed with a finger. "here it is. 'Guy.' Can't wait to see what monosyllable you stun us with next."
"You know what? If I didn't love you like a brother, I would so completely hate you like a brother," JC said affably, and Justin snorted.
"They're not mutually exclusive, C. Join the club already."
"I'm sure JC wouldn't want to join any club that would have him as a member," Chris said solemnly, and JC laughed.
"Dude, if anyone here's gonna be Groucho . . . "
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Can't really picture you with a cigar."
At his last word, Chris saw JC's eyes light up as he gave a considering look at his tiles before choosing the ones he wanted and laying them neatly down on the board.
Justin was at a bad angle; he had to crane his neck to see. When he settled back down, he was frowning. "That's not fair, man."
"What?" JC asked innocently. "It's a word."
"I know it's a word. 'S not cool, C."
Justin's eyes had narrowed, and he was glaring at JC, his face suddenly flushed. Chris rolled his eyes. "I believe Justin's vaguely disgusted indignation is in reaction to the context of the word," he intoned, "not to the validity of the word itself."
"What?" JC repeated. "It's an adjective. It means 'not sharp.' Or 'straight-forward.' Depending on the, uh . . . " he grinned suddenly, "the context."
"Your context is totally fucked," Justin snapped. "You said you wouldn't bring it up."
"What was I bringing up? I was just playing the game."
Justin turned his scowl on Chris, who hastily held up his hands in defense. "I said nothing. Nothing was said by me. I've never talked ever. I'm mute."
"Whatever," Justin muttered, rising to his feet. "Screw y'all. I'm gonna go call Brit."
"But it's game night!" Chris protested.
"Yeah, well, since we're keeping it in context and all, the game is over. I ain't gotta take this from y'all. When you're ready for SoulCaliber, or, like, a little maturity, you can come get me." Justin stalked off towards the front of the bus, pulling the door closed behind him with pointed force.
"'Cause SoulCaliber is so the essence of maturity," JC murmured, and Chris snickered despite himself. JC shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know what's up with him, can't take a joke all of a sudden."
"He's been developing his sensitive side," Chris said, picking up the Scrabble board and tilting it to let the tiles fall into the box. "I totally won, by the way. In case you were wondering."
"Yeah, thanks. 'Cause I wasn't the designated scorekeeper or anything." JC handed Chris the score pad and Justin's abandoned tile holder. "I should get triple points for 'blunt,' though."
"Dude, if we got triple points for pissing J off, I would have . . . " Chris looked skyward, mentally tabulating. "Yeah, eighty bajillion points exactly. And I'd still be the winner." JC shook his head, and Chris' smile faded somewhat as his tone grew more serious. "Really though, we did promise him we wouldn't talk about it." JC waved his hand dismissively, and Chris reached out and caught it in his own. "I can't remember Johnny reaming him out so bad before. Shit, I don't think he's ever been reamed out that bad before."
"No, that time in Switzerland," JC responded automatically, watching Chris twine their fingers together and pull them apart. "When he fucked up at that showcase. Lou scared the shit out of him, had him crying and freaking out, remember?"
"Wish I didn't," Chris said shortly, and it was JC's turn to lace his fingers between Chris'.
"Over and done, man, that's all in the past," he said softly. "J's a big boy now. He can handle Johnny coming down on him." Chris nodded, his mouth still grimly set, and JC tugged lightly on his fingers. "'Course, he wouldn't have to handle it if he could manage to swallow some pride instead of taking Lance up on every single damn bet."
Chris nodded again. "I'm sure smoking up before the junket seemed like a good idea at the time."
"I'm sure," JC said dryly. "You know, if you hadn't taught him how to roll them in the first place-"
"Me?" Chris quirked an eyebrow. "I distinctly remember Lynn's basement being inaugurated by a Universal employee that was not me."
"Eh, you, Joey, it's all the same," JC said airily, and Chris growled, pulling fiercely on their joined hands, so that JC was half-dragged onto Chris' lap. "It's all the same, huh?" he growled again, bending his lips to JC's ear.
"Well, I guess not all the same," JC admitted. He shifted his weight so that his forearm pressed right there, and Chris bit back a groan. "Because I don't wanna do this to Joey," and somehow JC had straightened up in his lap, and the heel of his hand was pressing against Chris' groin in a most distracting way, "and I don't wanna do this to Joey," and his lips were skating along the rough edge of Chris' jaw, "and I'm pretty sure Joey doesn't want to do this to me," and his ass, which curved so complacently under Chris' hand, was pushing up and back, his hips tilting, suggesting a certain angle . . .
"Christ," Chris breathed, "I totally take it back, I'm glad I corrupted you." He tightened his grip on JC and flipped them over, maneuvering between JC's legs, which spread eagerly and wrapped themselves around Chris' waist. "Really glad," he added, punctuating his words with a small thrust. JC practically purred, arching up to meet him.
"I only let you do it so I could take advantage of your big . . . enormous . . . gargantuan . . . vocabulary."
Chris leaned down to cover JC's smirk with his lips, and found JC's mouth warm and open, his tongue dancing along Chris', pulling him in deep. Chris moaned into the kiss, and his hand was curling into the hem of JC's shirt, lifting it to expose the smooth, pale muscle, the backs of his knuckles brushing along the tender skin, and JC was licking hungrily into his mouth and wriggling beneath him, when-
"You are not allowed to have sex while I'm pissed off at you!"
The crackle of the intercom froze Chris just as he was tugging JC's shirt up over his chest. "Does Justin have, like, some creepy super-powers that we didn't know about?" he muttered.
"What, like the ability to kill the mood?" JC answered. "No, we knew he had that power." He heaved a sigh and rolled out from under Chris. "Like your virgin eyes can't take it," he yelled, pointing his chin in the direction of the cabinets, and Chris suddenly recalled the camera he had set up earlier that week in order to spy on Justin and Lance and their little Johnny-be-damned pre-press pow-wow in the back of the three-man. He rose to his feet.
"If I'm not happy, you're not . . . hey!" Wires dangling from his fist, Chris triumphantly showed JC the disemboweled camera. "There's still no sex! Just 'cause I can't see it doesn't mean I don't know it's happening!"
"Rate you're going, J, you're never gonna get another game of SoulCaliber out of me again," Chris called out, crossing back over to JC and palming his hips.
"What you don't see can't hurt you," JC added, turning his head back to let Chris nuzzle at his neck.
"Oh fine. But I better not be able to hear it," Justin's peevish voice said. "Or game night is officially cancelled forever."
"I think we can find our own kind of game," Chris laughed, and JC turned in his arms and pulled him back down to the floor.
"I think you're gonna win this one too," he murmured as he slid his hand down Chris' back, dipping below the waistband of his jeans. Chris leaned in to kiss him, and thought that he and C were pretty much both winners.