Like Riding a Bike (or Falling in Love)
Aug. 25th, 2008 04:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amfiguree[Gen] [N'sync] [PG...ish?]
This was written for the something like august challenge. My date was the 25th. I was hoping to get some basez action in, but... that didn't work out so well. Many thanks must go out to the fantastic ms.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bubbleforest, who looked through it and assured me it did not suck. <3
Like Riding a Bike (or Falling in Love)
It takes eight years to make it happen.
Well, okay. Technically, it takes seven and a half for Lance to realize it has to.
It starts when he figures out that it's been forever since JC's put out any actual music. There'd been that number one hit collaboration with David Archuleta - who JC still gets flail-y over while he's talking about because "he totally gets music, man, like he can see right into your soul and sing it to you" - in early 2009, but it's been over a year since, and every time Lance calls, JC keeps talking about Kate-or-maybe-Tara-or-maybe-Safari-Sunset-like-the-flower as if it's going to happen one day on its own. And Lance loves the guy, but growing up with Justin means he's always going to be a little too white-country-boy to actually enjoy a show like ABDC.
He tries to talk to JC about it the next time they're both in LA when they meet up for dinner and a drink, but JC just shakes his head, shrugs and says, "I don't know, cat." JC sounds miserable, and Lance wonders how he missed that before. "I'm just not feeling it. I mean, I love it, I love writing my own material, but it's not the same. I thought I had something to say, but saying it alone doesn't work so well when you're used to having four other people up there saying it with you."
He leans across the table, like he's about to share life's greatest mystery. "I figured it out the other day. It's like, you know, when I wake up, and the day begins, do I hold my breath and count to ten?"
Lance blinks. "What?"
JC's eyes are wide now, earnest as all hell. "I'm just one motherfucker singing proud," he hums. "Singing glory, glory, hallelujah. They say there's room to grow, but blow by blow, you see, I always get lost, see, I already forgot. So sing out, sing out loud, you should be another motherfucker singing proud."
"C," Lance says.
"They say, 'when you sing, you're praying twice', don't that sound nice? So rise up, come on, give it a try."
Lance opens his mouth to protest again, but JC looks at him, hard, and Lance snaps his mouth shut. JC needs him to understand. "Okay," he says, instead, and lets JC finish serenading him with the rest of the song.
He googles it later that night, the song JC sang, and by eight the next morning, he's already set a plan in motion. He figures that if JC's quoting Jason Mraz at him, it means serious business.
He calls his agent first - the one Reichen recommended him after their relationship went sour - and tells her to buy him a warehouse in LA, somewhere big and spacious, "and line the walls with mirrors or JC's going to bitch." Then he calls Chris' manager, and gets her to cancel all the talks he's got lined up with the cast of Manband 2 - Gone Country only got him so far, and after starring in Gone Disco, and Gone Country's Best of the Best post that, Chris has found the joy of fucking with people's heads on national TV and is refusing to relinquish it.
It's only after that that he calls Chris, who's hungover on tequila and Corona Lights and at least two other Southern alcohols he's gone and gotten addicted to, and he swears up and down when Lance tells him to be in LA by the end of the day before hanging up on him. Lance calls again and leaves a voice message threatening castration and a stint in rehab if Chris doesn't show.
The talk with Joey goes a lot smoother. Lance basically coaxes him out of being a full time father who takes tango lessons with his wife on the side and does the occasional broadway show. It's surprisingly easy.
A week later, they're ready to start rehearsing. Chris is five minutes early, and when he sees the choreographers Lance has called, his jaw literally drops. "You've got to be fucking kidding, Bass."
Wade raises an eyebrow and spreads his hands. "If it wasn't me, she'dve gone for someone else."
That right there is why Lance hired him. Wade's Wade, bad blood - and Britney - be damned, and they need him if they're going to make this good.
Chris glowers, and Lance is actually grateful when he doesn't make the snide comment they all know is resting just under his tongue. "So," Lance says, and JC turns to him, beaming, "We all in?"
"It's seven fucking thirty in the morning," Chris bitches. "What the fuck do you think?"
Lance grins. Scratch that, they need Wade to make this fucking amazing.
It takes six months of rehearsals.
The rest of them had been all geared up at four, but Chris had protested. "Hello," he'd said, "Pushing forty here."
Lance'd rolled his eyes and smacked him upside the head, and then Joey had hoisted him up on a shoulder and run two laps around the room, and Chris had been breathless when Joey finally set him down, laughing too hard to kick up any more fuss.
They'd slowed down after that.
Then Lance gets into an argument with the stage manager of the U.S. leg of Justin's tour - Jesus fucking Christ, is Justin even screening these people? - and that eats up another two weeks. It would've taken more time, but Joey makes a couple of phone calls, promises the world and guffaws loudly into his cell, and suddenly the tour manager is their new best friend.
Lance gives Joey the cold shoulder for all of two hours before JC wraps a casual hand around his wrist and tugs him down onto the couch that he's sharing with Joey. Then they're tickling him, and Chris joins in the fray with a whoop, and there isn't much Lance can do about it but tip his head back and laugh.
They make it just in time for the last leg of the concert in Arizona. Lance can hear Justin out onstage, segueing seamlessly from My Love into Don't Know You Now, and his heart starts thudding against his chest, a rhythm to the music. He doesn't realize his hands are clammy till JC's clasped one of them in his own.
"We're gonna be awesome," JC whispers, in his ear. His pulse is jumping beneath Lance's fingers, and when Lance turns to look at him, there's a bright brush of color across his cheeks. "We're gonna blow their minds, Lance."
Lance believes him.
It takes forever to complete their hacky-sack routine - mostly because Chris insists on getting an extra kick in - and they almost miss their cue. Justin's voice is booming around the arena as they take their places in the wings. "I know you know the words to this one, so I'm gonna get y'all to help me out, okay?" he says, and then the band starts playing Gone.
Justin croons, "There's a thousand words that I could say."
The crowd goes insane, and despite himself, Lance grins. There's the weight of Joey's hand on his back, solid and real, and then Joey sings, "To make you come home."
"Seems so long ago you walked away," JC adds.
And Chris wraps it up with, "And left me alone."
Justin stops short, head whipping to the side. "Holy sh--"
Then they're walking past the curtains, and they're onstage, all five of them again, finally together, finally, god. The crowd goes even louder, and Lance breathes out his first shaky laugh of the evening.
"Now I remember what you said to me," Joey goes on, an octave lower than usual, and that's when the CD kicks in, and Justin's vocals fill the stadium. Justin looks up at that, then back at them, and it isn't until Joey's completed the verse that Lance sees comprehension dawn.
"So it's like that, huh?" Justin says into the mic, with a shake of the head, but JC just grins and shrugs and Chris stops cackling long enough to take over the chorus.
The song's been completely reworked, so each of them now get a verse with Justin's vocals on back-up, and Lance's chest clenches when Justin throws his head back, laughs and goes with it.
JC's remixed a bunch of other songs too - mostly the ones they wrote for their solo acts - so they're all 5-part harmony, one solid melody after the next. Justin looks lost but amused, and after he botches the first couple of lines to Chris' Sure Shot anthem, Chris makes a big show of rolling his eyes before he hands Justin the sheet music. Justin makes a big show back of looking dubiously at it, and then singing very loudly and off-key. Chris look appalled for all of two seconds, then claps his hands over Joey's ears. Justin laughs so hard he can't get the rest of the song out.
They cover I Want You Back, and Tearin' Up My Heart, before Joey does one of his solos from Rent. Sexy Back, the remix, It's Gonna Be Me and then Chris breaks out into the first few bars of Lion Sleeps Tonight, and Justin cracks up.
"So," Joey says, when that's over. "We're gonna take it easy on you, Timberlake. Try to keep up with us this time, okay?"
Justin punches him in the shoulder, but he's grinning, and he doesn't hesitate to join in when Lance starts the intro to I Thought She Knew. They kill it. They're rusty in places, of course, but it's so easy to find the groove they used to share that for a moment, Lance doesn't remember what it's like doing anything else. Doesn't remember anything but the place where their voices fit like this, like five parts of a whole.
The entire stadium is silent. It's the highlight of Lance's entire night.
During JC's solo, Justin stops to catch his breath, and looks around at each one of them in turn. "You little fuckers," he mouths, eventually. Lance can't tell if he's angry, or surprised, or thrilled and figuring out how to break it to them. Possibly he's a little of all three.
After, Justin raises a hand, and JC's routine monologue to cut into the next song dies abruptly. There's a moment where Lance thinks, "publicity stunt," a moment he thinks Justin's going to completely blow his top, but then Justin looks at him and says, "It was you, wasn't it? You did this."
Lance stares.
Then Chris pipes up. "Oh, sure. Give him all the credit. It's not like the rest of us were involved or anything. "
Justin laughs again, a brittle, awed sound, and lets JC lead them into Do Your Thing.
They're on a complete high when they take their final bow and retreat offstage. The crowd had been eating out of their hands the entire time, not a word about the fact that they were there to see Justin Timberlake without the plus four. Back in the dressing room, JC sinks into a chair and fucking beams, just looks at them all and murmurs, "you guys," before pressing his face into his hands and shaking his head. Lance's voice cracks when he says, "C," and then Joey's a lost cause, too, wet streaks down his face despite the half-smile he's wearing, and Chris is swiping viciously at his eyes when the stage manager - is it Jared? - finally comes through the door.
"Sorry to bother you," Jared says. He looks like he's trying not to smile. "But you're wanted back onstage."
Outside, the volume is crazy. "If you're already screaming," Justin's saying, as they troop back up to join him, "You're gonna need to dial it up a notch! Let's give it up for these guys!"
It's wild. Lance's ears are ringing as Justin settles an arm around his shoulders. JC's standing on his other side, and they're both shaking so hard that Lance has no idea how they're still standing. "You're gonna have to do a little better than that," Justin grins, completely oblivious. "Because it looks to me like N'sync's back!"
"All right!" Chris adds, but his voice is lost in the utter chaos that explodes around the arena.
It's a cheesy cliché, and entirely overused in their business, but Justin's fingers are painfully tight on his skin, and Lance knows exactly, exactly what this means, and he doesn't care.
That's just the way of the boyband.
This was written for the something like august challenge. My date was the 25th. I was hoping to get some basez action in, but... that didn't work out so well. Many thanks must go out to the fantastic ms.
bubbleforest, who looked through it and assured me it did not suck. <3Like Riding a Bike (or Falling in Love)
It takes eight years to make it happen.
Well, okay. Technically, it takes seven and a half for Lance to realize it has to.
It starts when he figures out that it's been forever since JC's put out any actual music. There'd been that number one hit collaboration with David Archuleta - who JC still gets flail-y over while he's talking about because "he totally gets music, man, like he can see right into your soul and sing it to you" - in early 2009, but it's been over a year since, and every time Lance calls, JC keeps talking about Kate-or-maybe-Tara-or-maybe-Safari-Sunset-like-the-flower as if it's going to happen one day on its own. And Lance loves the guy, but growing up with Justin means he's always going to be a little too white-country-boy to actually enjoy a show like ABDC.
He tries to talk to JC about it the next time they're both in LA when they meet up for dinner and a drink, but JC just shakes his head, shrugs and says, "I don't know, cat." JC sounds miserable, and Lance wonders how he missed that before. "I'm just not feeling it. I mean, I love it, I love writing my own material, but it's not the same. I thought I had something to say, but saying it alone doesn't work so well when you're used to having four other people up there saying it with you."
He leans across the table, like he's about to share life's greatest mystery. "I figured it out the other day. It's like, you know, when I wake up, and the day begins, do I hold my breath and count to ten?"
Lance blinks. "What?"
JC's eyes are wide now, earnest as all hell. "I'm just one motherfucker singing proud," he hums. "Singing glory, glory, hallelujah. They say there's room to grow, but blow by blow, you see, I always get lost, see, I already forgot. So sing out, sing out loud, you should be another motherfucker singing proud."
"C," Lance says.
"They say, 'when you sing, you're praying twice', don't that sound nice? So rise up, come on, give it a try."
Lance opens his mouth to protest again, but JC looks at him, hard, and Lance snaps his mouth shut. JC needs him to understand. "Okay," he says, instead, and lets JC finish serenading him with the rest of the song.
He googles it later that night, the song JC sang, and by eight the next morning, he's already set a plan in motion. He figures that if JC's quoting Jason Mraz at him, it means serious business.
He calls his agent first - the one Reichen recommended him after their relationship went sour - and tells her to buy him a warehouse in LA, somewhere big and spacious, "and line the walls with mirrors or JC's going to bitch." Then he calls Chris' manager, and gets her to cancel all the talks he's got lined up with the cast of Manband 2 - Gone Country only got him so far, and after starring in Gone Disco, and Gone Country's Best of the Best post that, Chris has found the joy of fucking with people's heads on national TV and is refusing to relinquish it.
It's only after that that he calls Chris, who's hungover on tequila and Corona Lights and at least two other Southern alcohols he's gone and gotten addicted to, and he swears up and down when Lance tells him to be in LA by the end of the day before hanging up on him. Lance calls again and leaves a voice message threatening castration and a stint in rehab if Chris doesn't show.
The talk with Joey goes a lot smoother. Lance basically coaxes him out of being a full time father who takes tango lessons with his wife on the side and does the occasional broadway show. It's surprisingly easy.
A week later, they're ready to start rehearsing. Chris is five minutes early, and when he sees the choreographers Lance has called, his jaw literally drops. "You've got to be fucking kidding, Bass."
Wade raises an eyebrow and spreads his hands. "If it wasn't me, she'dve gone for someone else."
That right there is why Lance hired him. Wade's Wade, bad blood - and Britney - be damned, and they need him if they're going to make this good.
Chris glowers, and Lance is actually grateful when he doesn't make the snide comment they all know is resting just under his tongue. "So," Lance says, and JC turns to him, beaming, "We all in?"
"It's seven fucking thirty in the morning," Chris bitches. "What the fuck do you think?"
Lance grins. Scratch that, they need Wade to make this fucking amazing.
It takes six months of rehearsals.
The rest of them had been all geared up at four, but Chris had protested. "Hello," he'd said, "Pushing forty here."
Lance'd rolled his eyes and smacked him upside the head, and then Joey had hoisted him up on a shoulder and run two laps around the room, and Chris had been breathless when Joey finally set him down, laughing too hard to kick up any more fuss.
They'd slowed down after that.
Then Lance gets into an argument with the stage manager of the U.S. leg of Justin's tour - Jesus fucking Christ, is Justin even screening these people? - and that eats up another two weeks. It would've taken more time, but Joey makes a couple of phone calls, promises the world and guffaws loudly into his cell, and suddenly the tour manager is their new best friend.
Lance gives Joey the cold shoulder for all of two hours before JC wraps a casual hand around his wrist and tugs him down onto the couch that he's sharing with Joey. Then they're tickling him, and Chris joins in the fray with a whoop, and there isn't much Lance can do about it but tip his head back and laugh.
They make it just in time for the last leg of the concert in Arizona. Lance can hear Justin out onstage, segueing seamlessly from My Love into Don't Know You Now, and his heart starts thudding against his chest, a rhythm to the music. He doesn't realize his hands are clammy till JC's clasped one of them in his own.
"We're gonna be awesome," JC whispers, in his ear. His pulse is jumping beneath Lance's fingers, and when Lance turns to look at him, there's a bright brush of color across his cheeks. "We're gonna blow their minds, Lance."
Lance believes him.
It takes forever to complete their hacky-sack routine - mostly because Chris insists on getting an extra kick in - and they almost miss their cue. Justin's voice is booming around the arena as they take their places in the wings. "I know you know the words to this one, so I'm gonna get y'all to help me out, okay?" he says, and then the band starts playing Gone.
Justin croons, "There's a thousand words that I could say."
The crowd goes insane, and despite himself, Lance grins. There's the weight of Joey's hand on his back, solid and real, and then Joey sings, "To make you come home."
"Seems so long ago you walked away," JC adds.
And Chris wraps it up with, "And left me alone."
Justin stops short, head whipping to the side. "Holy sh--"
Then they're walking past the curtains, and they're onstage, all five of them again, finally together, finally, god. The crowd goes even louder, and Lance breathes out his first shaky laugh of the evening.
"Now I remember what you said to me," Joey goes on, an octave lower than usual, and that's when the CD kicks in, and Justin's vocals fill the stadium. Justin looks up at that, then back at them, and it isn't until Joey's completed the verse that Lance sees comprehension dawn.
"So it's like that, huh?" Justin says into the mic, with a shake of the head, but JC just grins and shrugs and Chris stops cackling long enough to take over the chorus.
The song's been completely reworked, so each of them now get a verse with Justin's vocals on back-up, and Lance's chest clenches when Justin throws his head back, laughs and goes with it.
JC's remixed a bunch of other songs too - mostly the ones they wrote for their solo acts - so they're all 5-part harmony, one solid melody after the next. Justin looks lost but amused, and after he botches the first couple of lines to Chris' Sure Shot anthem, Chris makes a big show of rolling his eyes before he hands Justin the sheet music. Justin makes a big show back of looking dubiously at it, and then singing very loudly and off-key. Chris look appalled for all of two seconds, then claps his hands over Joey's ears. Justin laughs so hard he can't get the rest of the song out.
They cover I Want You Back, and Tearin' Up My Heart, before Joey does one of his solos from Rent. Sexy Back, the remix, It's Gonna Be Me and then Chris breaks out into the first few bars of Lion Sleeps Tonight, and Justin cracks up.
"So," Joey says, when that's over. "We're gonna take it easy on you, Timberlake. Try to keep up with us this time, okay?"
Justin punches him in the shoulder, but he's grinning, and he doesn't hesitate to join in when Lance starts the intro to I Thought She Knew. They kill it. They're rusty in places, of course, but it's so easy to find the groove they used to share that for a moment, Lance doesn't remember what it's like doing anything else. Doesn't remember anything but the place where their voices fit like this, like five parts of a whole.
The entire stadium is silent. It's the highlight of Lance's entire night.
During JC's solo, Justin stops to catch his breath, and looks around at each one of them in turn. "You little fuckers," he mouths, eventually. Lance can't tell if he's angry, or surprised, or thrilled and figuring out how to break it to them. Possibly he's a little of all three.
After, Justin raises a hand, and JC's routine monologue to cut into the next song dies abruptly. There's a moment where Lance thinks, "publicity stunt," a moment he thinks Justin's going to completely blow his top, but then Justin looks at him and says, "It was you, wasn't it? You did this."
Lance stares.
Then Chris pipes up. "Oh, sure. Give him all the credit. It's not like the rest of us were involved or anything. "
Justin laughs again, a brittle, awed sound, and lets JC lead them into Do Your Thing.
They're on a complete high when they take their final bow and retreat offstage. The crowd had been eating out of their hands the entire time, not a word about the fact that they were there to see Justin Timberlake without the plus four. Back in the dressing room, JC sinks into a chair and fucking beams, just looks at them all and murmurs, "you guys," before pressing his face into his hands and shaking his head. Lance's voice cracks when he says, "C," and then Joey's a lost cause, too, wet streaks down his face despite the half-smile he's wearing, and Chris is swiping viciously at his eyes when the stage manager - is it Jared? - finally comes through the door.
"Sorry to bother you," Jared says. He looks like he's trying not to smile. "But you're wanted back onstage."
Outside, the volume is crazy. "If you're already screaming," Justin's saying, as they troop back up to join him, "You're gonna need to dial it up a notch! Let's give it up for these guys!"
It's wild. Lance's ears are ringing as Justin settles an arm around his shoulders. JC's standing on his other side, and they're both shaking so hard that Lance has no idea how they're still standing. "You're gonna have to do a little better than that," Justin grins, completely oblivious. "Because it looks to me like N'sync's back!"
"All right!" Chris adds, but his voice is lost in the utter chaos that explodes around the arena.
It's a cheesy cliché, and entirely overused in their business, but Justin's fingers are painfully tight on his skin, and Lance knows exactly, exactly what this means, and he doesn't care.
That's just the way of the boyband.
