mickeym

My brain is a weird place today. I was pondering a conversation with a friend from last night, and feeling kind of melancholy, and oddly, wanting some trickyfish. Wanting to write some trickyfish. So, here 'tis.

No warnings, no rating. Just a little sweetness.

There's no such thing as good luck, or bad luck, Chris thinks, watching the new kid dance. And don't talk about his belief in God. He's never quite understood how people can pin their hopes and beliefs on something which requires nothing but a willingness to go on absolute faith with no hard evidence.

No, the things that make up what people mistake for good luck are hard work, determination and drive, a belief in yourself. Timing counts, too, but that's just—timing. Getting something because you happen to be in the same spot as someone else looking for you, is timing. Not good luck. And in turn, bad luck isn't anything more than life, when shit happens. Chris knows; he's had what a lot of people call a life full of bad luck. He just calls it what it is: his life.

He nods to himself then sighs when Lance stumbles and misses the step. JC flashes a look toward him and Chris shrugs. He'll get it. They'll all get it.

For now, though, he's right here, where he wants to be. On the road to making something of himself. And luck's gonna have nothing to do with it; kicking butt and never giving up are going to be the key factors.

~~~~~~

It doesn't get any better than this, Chris sighs quietly to himself. Yes, they're tired. They're hungry. Chris feels like they haven't stopped going since they arrived in Europe. But godDAMN, they're making it. The roar of the crowd when they take the stage is just—overwhelming. There's just no explaining to someone not a part of all this, how exhilarating it is to hear hundreds of people screaming your name. He's gonna be high for days off of tonight.

And—best of all, the best thing to come of this, is snuggled up tight against him, breathing warm, moist breath onto Chris' neck.

His fingers twitch with the urge to cuddle Lance closer, to make it look like it is, not just two friends snuggling out of exhaustion, but more…so, so much more.

He looks over the seatback of the seat in front of him and meets JC's eyes. His own slide away with a touch of guilt; he knows Lance is young – god, so young – but it feels so right. Nothing wrong or bad about how he feels, holding Lance close, sharing slick, wet kisses before tumbling into exhausted sleep. Nothing wrong about wanting to worship, just a little, a boy who's just coming into his own.

"S'okay, man. I get it." JC's voice is soft in the gloom of night, and Chris narrows his eyes, sees Justin draped over JC's lap, all long legs and slender torso, and the narrow, elegant fingers petting the soft skin at the nape of Justin's neck. He probably really does, Chris thinks ruefully, sighing again when Lance shifts, pressing a damp, unconscious kiss against the side of his neck before slumping over.

Chris cradles Lance against his heart and relaxes. He can't think of anywhere else he'd rather be. He's right there, now.

~~~~~~~

"It's not—what we thought. Lou isn't what we thought." Lance meets Chris' eyes, seems to gain courage or strength from whatever he sees there. "He's—we're bein' cheated."

And for the first time since they started this wild ride, Chris wishes he were somewhere else. He doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to hear what Lance is telling him. He doesn't want to look around the small room and see JC looking stunned, and Joey snarling in anger, and Justin, wide-eyed, fearful. He doesn't want to see their parents shaking their heads and muttering, doesn't want to listen to lawyers talk about what their rights are, what action they can take, what the possible outcome of all this could be. He doesn't want to be there, but he is, because that's right where he is, and that's how it is.

Somehow, some way, it'll all work out into what's meant to be. They'll fight back, kick ass and take names. Chris has never known anyone in his life as hardworking and determined as his four brothers. They'll ride this out like they've ridden everything else, and make the best of what happens. He doesn't want to be here, but he is, right here, and that's that. He nods and pushes the feeling of betrayal down deep.

"Right. So. What can we do?"

~~~~~~~

Later, much later, when night is streaked with pink and purple dawn and he's tangled in a sweaty heap with Lance, mouth still stinging from kisses and bites, and his body aching with satisfaction, Chris knows he wouldn't trade off anything. Bad happens alongside good, and this is the best it could be, right here.