For mickeym: "Chris/JC, pre-Germany, sexy and happy."

"Pretty sure you're not supposed to be here, you know. Rival empire, and all that." Chris threw a grin in the mirror as he wiped off the last of his greasepaint. "Not to mention the whole, you know, backstage is supposed to be for the performers and not for the performers' groupmates in the secret performing group that the performer hasn't mentioned to his boss at the job that actually still pays the bills lest he get fired and be unable to pay said bills." One of the other guys in the Hi-Tones squeezed by Chris, reaching for the bottle of water on the table, and Chris lifted his arm and twisted his hip to facilitate the reaching. It wasn't a very large dressing room.

JC stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and leaned against the door-frame. "I think I kind of lost the structure of that sentence halfway through it." He tilted his head. "I think you kind of lost the structure of that sentence halfway through it."

"Tragic, really. Death of train of thought. Film at eleven. Seriously, man, what're you doing here? Is it something wrong? Did something happen to one of the guys?" Chris was suddenly fierce and serious, ready to turn around and march out to deal with whatever it was. JC loved it when that happened, that quick and sudden transformation.

"What? Oh! No, no, not at all. I just. Wanted to come and see one of your shows, so Joey got me in, and then pointed me back here and told me to come and say hi." JC ran a hand through his hair. "I liked it. You guys sound really great."

"Thanks." Chris shot the cotton ball at the garbage bin, missed, scowled, bent over, picked it up, and rectified his error. "Hey. We're headed over to the diner to pick up coffee, maybe dinner, before I have to head on over to the warehouse. You, uh, wanna come?"

"Yeah," JC said. "That'd be great. Here, c'mere." He held out a hand and beckoned slightly. Chris, looking curious but trusting, took the two steps necessary to put himself into JC's range. JC brought his thumb to his mouth to wet it, then brushed it over the cleft in the side of Chris's lips, scrubbing lightly at the one last stray trace of lipstick visible there. Chris's breath caught in his lungs, and JC lifted his eyes to meet Chris's. He could see that Chris was suddenly thinking about it again, and that made him smile.

"Left-over lipstick?" Chris asked, and his voice was tight.

"Yeah," JC said again. "You gotta be careful that you get it all." And then, because he wasn't quite yet ready to manipulate Chris into making a pass at him and thinking it was his own idea, he took a careful step back out of Chris's personal space and summoned up that grin. "After you."

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